MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •   BOSTON  •    CHICAGO 
SAN   FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON   •   BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


Pie  like  mother  made,"  said  Scipio 


MEMBERS  OF  THE  FAMILY 


BY 
OWEN    WISTER 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS   BY   H.    T.    DUNN 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1911 

All  rights  reserved 


UBRARIAN'S  Ntf 

COPYRIGHT,  1901, 
Bv  THE  COSMOPOLITAN  MAGAZINE. 

COPYRIGHT,  1903, 
BY  P.  F.  COLLIER  AND  SON. 

COPYRIGHT,  1902,  1908,  1909,  1911, 
Bv  THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 

COPYRIGHT,  1911, 
BY  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published  May,  1911. 


J.  8.  dishing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 
Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


HORACE  HOWARD  FURNESS 

OF   LlNDENSHADE,  WALLINGFORD 


That  is  my  home  of  love  :  if  I  have  rang'd, 
Like  him  that  travels,  I  return  again. 

—  SONNET  CIX. 


218750 


PREFACE 

WHEN  this  October  comes,  twenty  years  will 
be  sped  since  the  author  of  these  Western  tales 
sat  down  one  evening  to  begin  his  first  tale  of 
the  West,  and  —  will  you  forgive  him  a  preamble 
of  gossip,  of  retrospection?  Time  steps  in 
between  the  now  that  is  and  the  then  that  was 
with  a  vengeance;  it  blocks  the  way  for  us  all; 
we  cannot  go  back.  When  the  old  corner,  the 
old  place,  the  old  house,  wear  the  remembered 
look,  beckon  to  the  memory  as  if  to  say,  No 
change  here !  then  verily  is  the  change  worst,  the 
shell  most  empty,  the  cheat  well-nigh  too  pierc 
ing.  In  a  certain  garden  I  used  to  plunder  in 
1866,  the  smell  to-day  of  warm,  dusty  straw 
berries.  .  .  .  But  did  we  admit  to  our  com 
panionship  ghosts  only,  what  would  living  be  ? 
I  continue  to  eat  strawberries.  As  for  smells, 
they're  worse  than  old  melodies,  I  think.  Lately 
I  was  the  sport  of  one.  My  train  was  trundling 
over  the  plains  —  a  true  train  of  the  past,  half 
freight,  half  passenger,  cars  of  an  obsolete  build, 
big  smoke-stack  on  the  archaic  engine,  stops  for 
meals,  inveterate  news-boy  with  bad  candy,  bad 
novels,  bad  bananas  —  a  dear  old  horrible  train, 
when  magic  was  suddenly  wrought.  It  came  in 


8  PREFACE 

through  the  open  window,  its  wand  touched  me, 
and  the  evoked  spirits  rose.  With  closed  eyes 
I  saw  them  once  more,  standing  there  out  in  the 
alkali,  the  antelope  by  scores  and  hundreds,  only 
a  little  way  off,  a  sort  of  color  between  cinnamon 
and  amber  in  the  morning  sun,  transparent  and 
phantom-like,  with  pale  legs.  Only  a  little  way 
off.  Eyes  closed,  I  watched  them,  as  in  1885 
with  open  ones  I  beheld  them  first  from  the  train. 
Now  they  were  running ;  I  saw  the  bobbing  dots 
of  their  white  receding  rears,  and  through  me 
passed  the  ghost  of  that  first  thrill  at  first  seeing 
antelope  yesterday  —  it  seemed  yesterday:  only 
a  little  way  off.  I  opened  my  eyes ;  there  was 
the  train  as  it  ought  to  look,  there  were  the 
plains,  the  alkali,  the  diy  gullies,  the  mounds, 
the  flats,  the  enormous  sunlight,  the  virgin  air 
like  the  first  five  measures  of  Lohengrin  —  but 
where  were  the  antelope  ?  So  natural  did  every 
thing  continue  to  look,  surely  they  must  be  just 
over  that  next  rise  !  No ;  over  the  one  beyond 
that  ?  No ;  only  a  little,  little  way  off,  but  gone 
for  evermore !  And  magic  smote  me  once  again 
through  the  window.  Thousands  of  cattle  were 
there,  with  horsemen.  Were  they  not  there? 
Not  over  the  next  rise?  No;  gone  for  evermore. 
What  was  this  magic  that  came  in  through  the 
window?  The  smell  of  the  sage-brush.  After 
several  years  it  was  greeting  me  again.  All  day 
long  it  breathed  a  welcome  and  a  sigh,  as  if  the 
desert  whispered :  Yes,  I  look  as  if  I  were  here ; 


PREFACE  9 

but  I  am  a  ghost,  too,  there's  no  coming  back. 
All  day  long  the  whiffs  of  sage-brush  conjured 
old  sights  before  me,  till  my  heart  ran  over  with 
homesickness  for  what  was  no  more,  and  the 
desert  seemed  to  whisper :  It's  not  I  you're  seek 
ing,  you're  straining  your  eyes  to  see  yourself,  — 
you  as  you  were  in  your  early  twenties,  with 
your  illusion  that  I,  the  happy  hunting-ground 
of  your  young  irresponsibility,  was  going  to  be 
permanent.  You  must  shut  your  eyes  to  see 
yourself  and  me  and  the  antelope  as  we  all  used 
to  be.  Why,  if  Adam  and  Eve  had  evaded  the 
angel  and  got  back  into  the  garden,  do  you  think 
they  would  have  found  it  the  same  after  Cain 
and  Abel  ?  Thus  moralized  the  desert,  and  I 
thought,  How  many  things  we  have  to  shut  our 
eyes  to  see ! 

Permanent !  Living  men,  not  very  old  yet, 
have  seen  the  Indian  on  the  war-path,  the  buffalo 
stopping  the  train,  the  cow-boy  driving  his  cattle, 
the  herder  watching  his  sheep,  the  government 
irrigation  dam,  and  the  automobile  —  have  seen 
every  one  of  these  slides  which  progress  puts  for  a 
moment  into  its  magic-lantern  and  removes  to  re 
place  with  a  new  one.  The  final  tale  in  this  book 
could  not  possibly  have  happened  in  the  day 
of  the  first  tale,  although  scarcely  twenty  years 
separate  the  new,  present  Wyoming  from  that 
cow-boy  Wyoming  which  then  flourished  so 
boisterously,  and  is  now  like  the  antelope.  Steam 
and  electricity  make  short  work  of  epochs.  We 


io  PREFACE 

don't  know  how  many  centuries  the  Indian  and 
the  buffalo  enjoyed  before  the  trapper  and  pioneer 
arrived.  These  latter  had  fifty  or  sixty  good 
years  of  it,  pushing  westward  until  no  west  was 
left  to  push  to;  a  little  beyond  Ogden  in  1869, 
the  driving  of  that  golden  spike  which  riveted 
the  rails  between  New  York  and  San  Francisco, 
rang  out  the  old,  rang  in  the  new,  and  progress 
began  to  work  its  magic-lantern  faster.  The 
soldier  of  the  frontier,  the  frontier  post  —  gone; 
the  cattle-range  —  gone;  the  sheep  episode  just 
come,  yet  going  already,  or  at  any  rate  already 
mixed,  diluted,  with  the  farm,  the  truck  garden, 
the  poultry  yard,  the  wife,  the  telephone,  the 
summer  boarder,  and  the  Victor  playing  the 
latest  Broadway  "  records "  in  valleys  where 
the  august  wilderness  reigned  silent  —  yesterday. 
The  nomadic,  bachelor  West  is  over,  the  housed, 
married  West  is  established.  This  rush  of 
change,  this  speed  we  live  at  everywhere  (only 
faster  in  some  places  than  in  others)  has  led 
some  one  to  remark  sententiously  that  when  a 
Western  baby  is  born,  it  immediately  makes  its 
will,  while  when  a  New  York  baby  is  born,  it 
merely  applies  for  a  divorce. 

But  what  changes  can  ever  efface  that  early 
vision  which  began  with  the  antelope?  Wyo 
ming  burst  upon  the  tenderfoot  resplendent,  like 
all  the  story-books,  like  Cooper  and  Irving  and 
Parkman  come  true  again;  here,  actually  going 
on,  was  that  something  which  the  boy  runs  away 


PREFACE  ii 

from  school  to  find,  that  land  safe  and  far  from 
Monday  morning,  nine  o'clock,  and  the  spelling- 
book  ;  here  was  Saturday  eternal,  where  you  slept 
out-of-doors,  hunted  big  animals,  rode  a  horse, 
roped  steers,  and  wore  deadly  weapons.  Make 
no  mistake :  fire-arms  were  at  times  practical  and 
imperative,  but  this  was  not  the  whole  reason 
for  sporting  them  on  your  hip ;  you  had  escaped 
from  civilization's  schoolroom,  an  air  never 
breathed  before  filled  your  lungs,  and  you  were 
become  one  large  shout  of  joy.  College-boy, 
farm-boy,  street-boy,  this  West  melted  you  all 
down  to  the  same  first  principles.  Were  you 
seeking  fortune  ?  Perhaps,  incidentally,  but 
money  was  not  the  point ;  you  had  escaped  from 
school.  This  holiday  was  leavened  by  hard 
bodily  work,  manly  deeds,  and  deeds  heroic,  and 
beneath  all  the  bright  brave  ripple  moved  the 
ground-swell  of  tragedy.  Something  of  promise, 
also,  was  in  the  air,  promise  of  a  democracy  which 
the  East  had  missed  :  — 

"With  no  spread-eagle  brag  do  I  gather  con 
viction  each  year  that  we  Americans,  judged  not 
hastily,  are  sound  at  heart,  kind,  courageous, 
often  of  the  truest  delicacy,  and  always  ultimately 
of  excellent  good  sense.  With  such  belief,  or, 
rather,  knowledge,  it  is  sorrowful  to  see  our  fatal 
complacence,  our  as  yet  undisciplined  folly,  in 
sending  to  our  State  Legislatures  and  to  that 
general  business  office  of  ours  at  Washington, 
a  herd  of  mismanagers  that  seems  each  year 


12  PREFACE 

to  grow  more  inefficient  and  contemptible, 
whether  branded  Republican  or  Democrat.  But 
I  take  heart,  because  oftener  and  oftener  I  hear 
upon  my  journey  the  citizens  high  and  low  mut 
tering,  *  There's  too  much  politics  in  this  coun 
try  ' ;  and  we  shake  hands." 

Such  "insurgent"  sentiments  did  I  in  1895, 
some  time  before  insurgency's  day,  speak  out 
in  the  preface  to  my  first  book  of  Western  tales ; 
to-day  my  faith  begins  to  be  justified.  In  the 
West,  where  the  heart  of  our  country  has  been 
this  long  while,  and  where  the  head  may  be 
pretty  soon,  the  citizens  are  awakening  to  the 
fact  that  our  first  century  of  "  self "  government 
merely  substituted  the  divine  right  of  corpora 
tions  for  the  divine  right  of  Kings.  Surprising 
it  is  not,  that  a  people  whose  genius  for  machinery 
has  always  been  paramount  should  expect  more 
from  constitutions  and  institutions  than  these 
mere  mechanisms  of  government  can  of  them 
selves  perform ;  the  initiative,  referendum,  and 
recall  are  excellent  inventions,  but  if  left  to  run 
alone,  as  all  our  other  patent  devices  have  been, 
they  will  grind  out  nothing  for  us :  By  his  very 
creed  is  the  American  dedicated  to  eternal  vigil 
ance.  This  we  forgot  for  so  long  that  learning 
it  anew  is  both  painful  and  slow.  We  have 
further  to  remember  that  prosperity  is  something 
of  a  curse  in  disguise ;  it  is  the  poor  governments 
in  history  that  have  always  been  the  purest ; 
where  there  is  much  to  steal,  there  will  be  many 


PREFACE  13 

to  steal  it.  We  must  discern,  too,  the  illusion 
of  "  natural  rights,"  once  an  inspiration,  now  a 
shell  from  which  life  has  passed  on  into  new 
formulas.  A  "  right "  has  no  existence,  save  in 
its  potential  exercise;  it  does  not  proceed  from 
within,  it  is  permitted  from  without,  and  "  natural 
rights  "  is  a  phrase  empty  of  other  meaning  than 
to  denote  whatever  primitive  or  acquired  inclina 
tions  of  man  each  individual  is  by  common  con 
sent  allowed  to  realize.  These  permissions  have 
varied,  and  will  vary,  with  the  ages.  Polygamy 
would  be  called  a  natural  right  now  in  some  parts 
of  the  world ;  to  the  criminal  and  the  diseased 
one  wife  will  presently  be  forbidden  in  many 
places.  Let  this  single  illustration  serve.  No 
argument  based  upon  the  dogmatic  premise  of 
natural  rights  can  end  anywhere  save  in  drifting 
fog.  We  see  this  whenever  a  meeting  of  an 
archists  leads  a  judge  or  an  editor  into  the  trap 
of  attempting  to  define  the  "right"  of  free 
speech.  In  fact,  all  government,  all  liberty, 
reduces  itself  to  one  man  saying  to  another: 
You  may  do  this;  but  if  you  do  that,  I  will  kill 
you.  This  power  Democracy  vests  in  "the 
people,"  and  our  final  lesson  to  learn  is  that  in 
a  Democracy  there  is  no  such  separate  thing  as 
"the  people";  all  of  us  are  the  people.  Truly 
his  creed  compels  the  American  to  eternal  vigil 
ance  !  Will  he  learn  to  live  up  to  it  ? 

From  the  West  the  tenderfoot  took  home  with 
him  the  health  he  had  sought,  and  an  enthusiasm 


14  PREFACE 

his  friends  fled  from ;  what  was  Wyoming  to 
them  or  they  to  Wyoming?  In  1885  the  Eastern 
notion  of  the  West  was  "Alkali  Ike"  and  smok 
ing  pistols.  No  kind  of  serious  art  had  presented 
the  frontier  as  yet.  Fresh  visits  but  served  to 
deepen  the  tenderfoot's  enthusiasm  and  whet  his 
impatience  that  so  much  splendid  indigenous 
material  should  literally  be  wasting  its  sweetness 
on  the  desert  air.  It  is  likely  always  to  be  true 
that  in  each  hundred  of  mankind  ninety-nine 
can  see  nothing  new  until  the  hundredth  shakes 
it  in  their  faces  —  and  he  must  keep  shaking  it. 
No  plan  of  shaking  was  yet  in  the  tenderfoot's 
mind,  he  was  dedicated  to  other  calling;  but 
he  besieged  the  ears  of  our  great  painter  and  our 
great  novelist.  He  told  the  painter  of  the  strong, 
strange  shapes  of  the  buttes,  the  epic  landscape, 
the  color,  the  marvellous  light,  the  red  men  blank 
eted,  the  white  men  in  chapareros,  the  little 
bronze  Indian  children ;  particularly  does  he 
recall  —  in  1887  or  1888  —  an  occasion  about 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  in  a  certain  beloved 
club  in  Boston,  when  he  had  been  preaching  to 
the  painter.  A  lesser  painter  (he  is  long  dead) 
sat  by,  unbelieving.  No,  he  said,  don't  go.  I'm 
sure  it's  all  crude,  repulsive,  no  beauty.  But 
John  Sargent  did  believe.  Other  work  waited 
him ;  his  path  lay  elsewhere,  he  said,  but  he  was 
sure  the  tenderfoot  spoke  truth.  Other  work 
awaited  the  novelist,  too ;  both  painter  and  novel 
ist  were  wiser  than  to  leave  what  they  knew  to 


PREFACE  15 

be  their  own  for  unknown  fields.  But  would 
no  one,  then,  disperse  the  Alkali  Ikes  and  bring 
the  West  into  American  art  and  letters  ? 

It  was  a  happy  day  for  the  tenderfoot  when 
he  read  the  first  sage-brush  story  by  Mary  Hal- 
lock  Foote.  At  last  a  voice  was  lifted  to  honor 
the  cattle  country  and  not  to  libel  it.  Almost 
at  the  same  moment  Charles  King  opened  for 
us  the  door  upon  frontier  military  life.  He 
brought  spirited  army  scenes  to  our  ken,  Mrs. 
Foote  more  generally  clothed  the  civilian  frontier 
with  serious  and  tender  art.  They  (so  far  as 
I  know)  were  the  first  that  ever  burst  into  that 
silent  sea.  Next,  Mr.  Roosevelt  began  to  publish 
his  vivid,  robust  accounts  of  Montana  life.  But 
words  alone,  no  matter  how  skilfully  used,  were 
not  of  themselves  adequate  to  present  to  the 
public  a  picture  so  strange  and  new.  Another 
art  was  needed,  and  most  luckily  the  man  with 
the  seeing  6ye  and  shaping  hand  arrived. 

A  monument  to  Frederic  Remington  will  un 
doubtedly  rise  some  day;  the  artist  who  more 
than  any  one  has  gathered  up  in  a  grand  grasp 
an  entire  era  of  this  country's  history,  and  handed 
it  down  visible,  living,  picturesque,  for  coming 
generations  to  see — such  man  will  have  a  monu 
ment.  But  in  the  manner  of  commemorating 
national  benefactors,  I  would  we  resembled  the 
French  who  celebrate  their  great  ones  —  not 
soldiers  and  statesmen  alone,  but  all  their  great 
ones — by  naming  public  places  in  their  honor: 


16  PREFACE 

the  Quai  Voltaire,  the  Rue  Bizet,  the  Rue  Auber — 
to  mention  the  first  that  come  to  memory.  Every 
where  in  France  you  will  meet  with  these  instances 
of  a  good  custom.  In  this  country  we  seem  to 
value  even  third-rate  politicians  more  than  first- 
rate  men  of  art  and  letters.  If  Paris  can  by  her 
streets  perpetuate  the  memory  of  the  composers 
of  Carmen  and  Fra  Diavolo,  would  it  not  be 
fitting  that  Denver,  Cheyenne,  Tucson,  and  other 
western  cities,  should  have  a  Remington  street? 
I  am  glad  I  did  not  wait  until  he  was  dead  to 
pay  my  tribute  to  him.  The  two  opportunities 
that  came  to  me  in  his  life  I  took,  nor  has  my 
opinion  of  his  work  changed  since  then.  If  he 
never  quite  found  himself  in  color,  he  was  an 
incomparable  draftsman ;  best  of  all,  he  was  a 
great  wholesome  force  making  for  independence, 
and  he  taught  to  our  over-imitative  American 
painters  the  needed  lesson  that  their  own  country 
furnishes  subjects  as  worthy  as  any  that  Dela 
croix  or  Millet  ever  saw.  I  have  lived  to  see 
what  I  did  not  expect,  the  desert  on  canvas ;  for 
which  I  thank  Fernand  Lungren.  Tributes  to 
the  dead  seem  late  to  me,  and  I  shall  take  this 
chance  to  acknowledge  my  debt  to  some  more 
of  the  living. 

Four  years  after  that  night  vigil  with  Sargent, 
the  tenderfoot  had  still  written  no  word  about 
the  West.  It  was  in  1891,  after  repeated  sojourn- 
^nr^  in  camp,  ranch,  and  military  post,  that  his 
.  ,  ation  with  the  whole  thing  ran  over,  so  to 


PREFACE  17 

speak,  in  the  form  of  fiction.  Writing  had  been 
a  constant  pastime  since  the  school  paper;  in 
1884  Mr.  Howells  (how  kind  he  was!)  had  felt 
my  literary  pulse  and  pronounced  it  promising; 
a  quickening  came  from  the  pages  of  Stevenson ; 
a  far  stronger  shove  next  from  the  genius  of  Plain 
Tales  from  the  Hills ;  during  an  unusually  long 
and  broad  wandering  through  the  Platte  valley, 
Powder  River,  Buffalo,  Cheyenne,  Fort  Wash- 
akie,  Jackson's  Hole,  and  "the  Park,  the  final  push 
happened  to  be  given  by  Prosper  Merimee; 
I  had  the  volume  containing  Carmen  with  me. 
After  reading  it  in  the  Park  I  straightway 
invented  a  traveller's  tale.  This  was  written  down 
after  I  got  home  —  I  left  some  good  company 
at  a  club  dinner  table  one  night  to  go  off  to 
a  lonely  library  and  begin  it.  A  second  followed, 
both  were  sent  to  Franklin  Square  and  accepted 
by  Mr.  Alden.  Then  I  found  my  pretty  faith 
fully-kept  Western  diaries  (they  would  now  fill  a 
shelf)  to  be  a  reservoir  of  suggestion — and  at 
times  a  source  of  despair;  as,  for  instance,  when 
I  unearthed  the  following  abbreviations :  Be  sure 
to  remember  Green-hides — perpendicular — sedi 
ment — Tuesdays  as  a  rule. 

Aware  of  Merimee's  not  highly  expansive 
nature,  I  should  hesitate,  were  he  alive,  to  dis 
close  my  debt  to  his  Carmen  —  my  favorite  of 
all  short  stories ;  but  Mr.  Howells  and  Mr.  Kip 
ling  will  be  indulgent,  and  there  is  anothe  *"*\o 
will  have  to  bear  with  my  gratitude.  In  ..<  $6 


i8  PREFACE 

I  sat  with  him  and  he  went  over  my  first  book, 
patiently,  minutely  pointing  out  many  things. 
Everything  that  he  said  I  could  repeat  this 
moment,  and  his  own  pages  have  continued  to 
give  me  hints  without  end.  That  the  pupil  in 
one  or  two  matters  ventures  to  disagree  with 
his  benefactor  may  be  from  much  lingering  igno 
rance,  or  because  no  two  ever  think  wholly  alike : 
tot  homines  quot  sententicz,  as  the  Latin  gram 
mar  used  so  incontrovertibly  to  remark.  It  is 
significant  to  note  how  this  master  seems  to  be 
teaching  a  numerous  young  generation.  Often 
do  I  picV;  up  some  popular  magazine  and  read 
a  story  (o.  ,  even  of  murder,  it  may  be,  in  tropic 
seas  or  city  slums)  where  some  canny  bit  of  fore 
shortening,  of  presentation,  reveals  the  spreading 
influence,  and  I  say,  Ah,  my  friend,  never  would 
you  have  found  out  how  to  do  that  if  Henry 
James  hadn't  set  you  thinking! 

It  can  happen,  says  Montesquieu,  that  the 
individual  through  pursuing  his  own  welfare 
contributes  to  the  general  good ;  Mr.  Herbert 
Croly  admirably  and  sagaciously  applies  this 
thought  to  the  case  of  the  artist  and  the  writer. 
Their  way  to  be  worthy  citizens  and  serve  the 
State,  he  says,  is  to  see  to  it  that  their  work  be 
reverently  thorough,  for  thus  they  set  high  the 
standard  of  national  excellence.  To  which  I 
would  add,  that  a  writer  can  easily  take  himself 
too  seriously,  but  he  can  never  take  his  art  too 
seriously.  In  our  country,  the  painter  and  writer 


PREFACE  19 

have  far  outstripped  the  working-man  in  their 
ideal  of  honest  work.  This  is  (partly)  because 
painter  and  writer  have  to  turn  out  a  good 
product  to  survive,  while  the  working-man  man 
ages  to  survive  with  the  least  possible  of  personal 
effort  and  skill.  Did  I  offer  my  publisher  such 
work  as  the  plumber  and  carpenter  offer  me, 
I  should  feel  myself  disgraced.  Are  we  to  see 
the  day  when  the  slovenly,  lazy  poet  shall  enact 
that  the  careful,  industrious  poet  must  work  no 
longer  and  sell  no  more  than  he  ? 

Editors  have  at  times  lamented  to  me  that 
good  work  isn't  distinguished  from  7  id  by  our- 
multifarious  millions.  I  have  the  i.  .ppiness  to 
know  the  editors  to  be  wrong.  Let  the  subject 
of  a  piece  of  fiction  contain  a  simple,  broad 
appeal,  and  the  better  its  art,  the  greater  its 
success ;  although  the  noble  army  of  readers  will 
not  suspect  that  their  pleasure  is  largely  due  to 
the  skill.  Such  a  book  as  The  Egoist,  where 
the  subject  is  rarefied  and  complex,  of  course  no 
height  of  art  will  render  acceptable,  save  to  the 
rehearsed  few.  Thanks  to  certain  of  our  more 
robust  editors,  the  noble  army  grows  daily  more 
rehearsed,  reads  "harder"  books  than  it  did, 
accepts  plainer  speech  and  wider  range  of  subject 
than  the  skittish  spinster  generation  of  a  while 
ago.  But  mark  here  an  underlying  principle. 
The  plain  speech  in  Richardson  was  in  his  day 
nothing  to  start  back  from ;  to-day  it  is  inhibited 
by  a  change  in  our  circumambient  reticence. 


20  PREFACE 

The  circumambient  reticence  varies  in  degree  with 
each  race,  and  almost  with  every  generation  of 
each  race.  Something  like  a  natural  law,  it  sets 
the  limits  for  what  can  be  said  aloud  in  grown-up 
company  —  and  Art  is  speaking  aloud  in  grown 
up  company ;  it  consists  no  more  of  the  profes 
sional  secrets  of  the  doctor  than  it  does  of  the 
prattle  of  the  nursery.  Its  business  is  indeed  to 
take  notice  of  everything  in  life,  but  always  sub 
ject  to  the  circumambient  reticence.  Those 
gentlemen  (and  ladies)  who  utter  that  gaseous 
shibboleth  about  Art  for  Art  (as  well  cry  Beef 
steak  for  Beefsteak)  and  would  have  our  books  and 
plays  be  foul  because  Ben  Jonson  frequently  was 
and  Anatole  France  frequently  is,  are  out  of  their 
reckoning ;  and  generally  they  may  be  suspected 
not  so  much  of  an  abstract  passion  for  truth  as  of 
a  concrete  letch  for  animalism.  Almost  the  only 
advice  for  the  beginner  is,  Clearly  feel  what  you 
intend  to  express,  and  then  go  ahead,  listening  to 
nobody,  unless  to  one  who  also  perceives  clearly 
your  intention.  Great  and  small  things  does  this 
rule  fit.  Once  in  an  early  tale  I  sought  to  make 
our  poor  alphabet  express  the  sound  of  cow-bells, 
and  I  wrote  that  they  tankled  on  the  hillside.  In 
the  margin  I  stated  my  spelling  to  be  intentional. 
Back  it  came  in  the  galley,  tinkled.  A  revised 
proof  being  necessary,  I  restored  my  word  with 
emphasis  —  and  lo,  tinkle  was  returned  me  again. 
I  appealed  to  the  veteran  and  well-loved  sage  at 
the  head  of  Harper  s  Magazine.  He  supported 


PREFACE  21 

me.  Well,  in  the  new  Oxford  dictionary,  behold 
Tankle  and  me,  two  flies  in  amber,  perpetuated  by 
that  Supreme  Court ;  I  have  coined  a  new  ac 
knowledged  word  for  the  English  language.  This 
should  not  be  told,  but  for  its  small  moral,  and  if 
I  could  not  render  a  final  set  of  thanks  to  the 
living.  Countless  blunders  have  been  saved  me 
by  the  watchful  eye  of  the  printer  and  proof 
reader,  those  friends  I  never  see,  whose  names  I 
do  not  know.  For  twenty  years  they  have  marked 
places  where  through  carelessness  or  fatigue  I 
have  slipped ;  may  some  of  them  know  through 
this  page  that  I  appreciate  their  service. 

This  book  is  three  years  late ;  the  first  tale 
designed  for  it  was  published  in  1901.  Its  fol 
lower  should  even  now  be  ready.  It  is  not 
yet  begun ;  it  exists  merely  in  notes  and  inten 
tions.  Give  me  health  and  a  day,  sighs  Emer 
son  ;  and  I  am  sorry  for  all  who  have  to  say 
that.  When  you  see  the  new  moon  over  your 
left  shoulder,  wish  always  for  health;  never 
mind  all  the  other  things.  I  own  to  an  attach 
ment  for  the  members  of  this  family;  I  would 
fain  follow  their  lives  a  little  more,  into  twentieth 
century  Wyoming,  which  knows  not  the  cow 
boy,  and  where  the  cow-boy  feels  at  times  more 
lost  than  ever  he  was  on  the  range.  Of  all  the 
ills  that  harass  writing,  plans  deferred  seem  at 
times  the  worst ;  yet  great  pleasures  offset  them 
—  the  sight  of  one's  pages  in  a  foreign  tongue, 
meeting  horses  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  named 


22  PREFACE 

after  the  members  of  one's  family,  being  asked 
from  across  the  world  for  further  news  of  some 
member.  Lately  a  suggestion  full  of  allurement 
came  from  one  who  had  read  of  Sir  Francis, 
the  duchess,  and  the  countess,  in  the  Saturday 
Evening  Post.  (There,  by  the  way,  is  an  intrepid 
editor!)  Why  not  add,  said  the  reader,  a  third 
lady  to  the  group  in  Jimsy's  pond,  and  see  what 
they  would  all  do  then  ?  Only  consider  the  pos 
sibilities!  But  I  dare  not.  Life,  without  whose 
gifts  none  of  us  could  have  a  story  to  tell  — 
not  even  Scheherezade  —  life  presented  to  me  Sir 
Francis  and  his  adoring  household.  Never  could 
I  risk  trusting  to  invention  in  a  matter  so  deli 
cate.  Would  the  duchess  and  the  countess  unite 
to  draw  the  line  at  the  added  sister  ?  Would  Sir 
Francis  rise  to  the  emergency?  and  if  so,  what 
line  would  he  take  ?  The  added  sister  might 
prove  a  lamb,  a  minx,  or  a  vixen.  You  see  the 
possibilities.  Dearly  should  I  like  to  return  this 
summer  to  the  singing  waters  of  Buffalo  Horn, 
and  place  a  third  lady  in  that  pond  of  Jimsy's; 
then  we  might  have  another  story  if  others  are 
ever  to  be.  My  science  in  the  third  tale  is  of 
course  out  of  date ;  since  Kelvin,  energy  is  im 
mortal  no  longer,  and  a  lower  form  of  it  was 
transmitted  to  the  Secretary  than  was  originally 
stored  in  Captain  Stone. 


CONTENTS 

?AGB 

I.    HAPPY-TEETH 27 

II.    SPIT-CAT  CREEK 67 

III.  IN  THE  BACK 89 

IV.  TlMBERLINE 124 

V.    THE  GIFT  HORSE 159 

VI.  EXTRA  DRY       *        .        ,        «        •        .        .        .207 

VII.  WHERE  IT  WAS        .        .       ,        .        .        .        .229 

VIII.  THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     .        .    276 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

" '  Pie  like  Mother  made,1  said  Scipio "     .         .         .       Frontispiece 

FACING   PAGE 

"  High  Bear  galloped  away  into  the  dusk "  .        .         -56 

"  Out  of  the  door  he  flew,  —  squaws  and  bucks  flapped  after 

him  like  poultry " 66 

"'Is  Sistah  Stone  heah?'  Leonidas  inquired"          .         .        .108 

" '  If  that  I  was  where  I  would  be,  then  should  I  be  where  I  am 

not'" 126 

u  Waiting  for  nothing  was  stamped  plain  upon  him  from  head 

to  foot" 140 

"  The  stage  rattled  up  as  I  sat " 171 

"I  found  nothing  new  —  the  plain,  the  sage-brush,  the  dry 

ground  —  no  more"          » J88 

"  He  shuffled  the  shells  straight  at  the  freighter  as  if  he  were 

making  love  to  him  " 216 

"  How  could  he  know  that  Bellyful  had  only  become  a  road- 
agent  in  the  last  ten  minutes  ?  " 226 

" '  My,  but  it's  turrable  easy  to  get  married ' "  .        .         .         .     284 

"  *  Well,  Jimsy,  are  you  going  to  get  me  any  wood  for  this  stove 

—  or  ain't  you  ? ' " 296 


HAPPY-TEETH 

SCIPIO  LE  MOYNE  lay  in  bed,  held  together 
with  bandages.  His  body  had  need  for  many 
bandages.  A  Bar-Circle-Zee  three-year-old  had 
done  him  violent  mischief  at  the  forks  of  Stink 
ing  Water.1  But  for  the  fence,  Scipio  might  have 
swung  clear  of  the  wild,  rearing  animal.  When 
they  lifted  his  wrecked  frame  from  the  ground 
one  of  them  had  said :  — 

"  A  spade's  all  he'll  need  now." 

Overhearing  this  with  some  still  unconquered 
piece  of  his  mind,  Scipio  made  one  last  remark : 
"  I  ain't  going  to  die  for  years  and  years." 

Upon  this  his  head  had  rolled  over,  and  no 
further  statements  came  from  him  for — I  forget 
how  long.  Yet  somehow,  we  all  believed  that 
last  remark  of  his. 

"Since  I've  known  him,"  said  the  Virginian, 
"  I  have  found  him  a  truthful  man." 

1  Lately  changed  to  Shoshone  River  by  act  of  legislature.  While 
we  miss  the  old  name,  derived  from  certain  sulphur  springs,  we  agree 
that  like  the  Indian  and  the  cow-boy  it  belongs  to  the  past. 

27 


28  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

"Which  don't  mean,"  Honey  Wiggin  put  in, 
"that  he  can't  lie  when  he  ought  to." 

Judge  Henry  always  sent  his  hurt  cow- 
punchers  to  the  nearest  surgical  aid,  which  in 
this  case  was  the  hospital  on  the  reservation. 
Here  then,  one  afternoon,  Scipio  lay,  his  body 
still  bound  tight  at  a  number  of  places,  but  his 
brain  needing  no  bandages  whatever ;  he  was 
able  to  see  one  friend  for  a  little  while  each  day. 
It  was  almost  time  for  this  day's  visitor  to  go, 
and  the  visitor  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Oh,  don't  do  that ! "  pleaded  the  man  in  bed. 
"  I'm  not  sick  any  more." 

"  You  will  be  sick  some  more  if  you  keep  talk 
ing,"  replied  the  Virginian. 

"  Thinkin'  is  a  heap  more  dangerous,  if  y'u 
can't  let  it  out,"  Scipio  urged.  "  I'm  not  half 
through  tellin'  y'u  about  Horacles." 

"  Did  his  mother  name  him  that  ?  "  inquired 
the  Virginian. 

"Naw!  but  his  mother  brought  it  on  him. 
Didn't  y'u  know?  Of  course  you  don't  often  get 
so  far  north  in  the  Basin  as  the  Agency.  His 
name  is  Horace  Pericles  Byram.  Well,  the  Agent 
wasn't  going  to  call  his  assistant  store-clerk  all 
that,  y'u  know,  not  even  if  he  has  got  an  uncle  in 


HAPPY-TEETH  29 

the  Senate  of  the  United  States.  Couldn't  spare 
the  time.  Days  not  long  enough.  Not  even  in 
June.  So  everybody  calls  him  Horacles  now. 
He's  reconciled  to  it.  But  I  ain't.  It's  too  good 
for  him.  A  heap  too  good.  I've  knowed  him 
all  my  life,  and  I  can't  think  of  a  name  that's  not 
less  foolish  than  he  is.  Well,  where  was  I  ?  I 
was  tellin'  y'u  how  back  in  Gallipoleece  he  couldn't 
understand  anything.  Not  dogs.  Not  horses. 
Not  girls." 

"  Do  you  understand  girls  ? "  the  Virginian 
interrupted. 

"  Better'n  Horacles.  Well,  now  it  seems  he 
can't  understand  Indians.  Here  he  is  sellin' 
goods  to  'em  across  the  counter  at  the  Agency 
store.  I  could  sell  twiced  what  he  does,  from 
what  they  tell  me.  I  guess  the  Agent  has  begun 
to  discover  what  a  trick  the  Uncle  played  him 
when  he  unloaded  Horacles  on  him.  Now  why 
did  the  Uncle  do  that  ? " 

Scipio  stopped  in  his  rambling  discourse,  and 
his  brows  knitted  as  he  began  to  think  about  the 
Uncle.  The  Virginian  once  again  looked  at  his 
watch,  but  Scipio,  deep  in  his  thoughts,  did  not 
notice  him.  "  Uncle,"  he  resumed  to  himself, 
half  aloud,  "  Uncle  was  the  damnedest  scoundrel 


3o  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

in  Gallipot*. —  Say!"  he  exclaimed  suddenly, 
and  made  an  eager  movement  to  sit  up.  "  Oh 
Lord !  "  he  groaned,  sinking  back.  "  I  forgot.  — 
What's  your  hurry  ?  " 

But  the  Virginian  had  seen  the  pain  transfix 
his  friend's  face,  and  though  that  face  had  in 
stantly  smiled,  it  was  white.  He  stood  up.  "  I'd 
ought  to  get  kicked  from  here  to  the  ranch,"  he 
said,  remorsefully.  "  I'll  get  the  doctor." 

Vainly  the  man  in  bed  protested;  his  visitor 
was  already  at  the  door. 

"  I've  not  told  y'u  about  his  false  teeth ! "  shrieked 
Scipio,  hoping  this  would  detain  him.  "  And  he 
does  tricks  with  a  rabbit  and  a  bowl  of  fish." 

But  the  guest  was  gone.  In  his  place  pres 
ently  the  Post  surgeon  came,  and  was  not 
pleased.  Indeed,  this  excellent  army  doctor 
swore.  Still,  it  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had 
done  so,  nor  did  it  prove  the  last;  and  Scipio,  it 
soon  appeared,  had  given  himself  no  hurt.  But 
in  answer  to  a  severe  threat,  he  whined :  — 

"  Oh,  ain't  y'u  goin'  to  let  me  see  him  to- 
morro'?" 

"  You'll  see  nobody  to-morrow  except  me." 

"  Well,  that'll  be  seein'  nobody,"  whined  Scipio, 
more  grievously. 


HAPPY-TEETH  31 

The  doctor  grinned.  "  In  some  ways  you're 
incurable.  Better  go  to  sleep  now."  And  he 
left  him. 

Scipio  did  not  go  to  sleep  then,  though  by 
morning  he  had  slept  ten  healthful  hours,  wak 
ing  with  the  Uncle  still  at  the  centre  of  his 
thoughts.  It  made  him  again  knit  his  brows. 

"  No,  you  can't  see  him  to-day,"  said  the  doctor, 
in  reply  to  a  request. 

"  But  I  hadn't  finished  sayin'  something  to 
him,"  Scipio  protested.  "  And  I'm  well  enough 
to  see  my  dead  grandmother." 

"That  I'll  not  forbid,"  answered  the  doctor. 
And  he  added  that  the  Virginian  had  gone  back 
to  Sunk  Creek  with  some  horses. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Scipio.  "  I'd  forgot.  Well, 
he'll  be  coming  through  on  his  way  to  Billings 
next  week.  You  been  up  to  the  Agency  lately  ? 
Yesterday?  Well,  there's  going  to  be  some 
thing  new  happen.  Agent  seem  worried  or  any 
thing?" 

"  Not  that  I  noticed.  Are  the  Indians  going 
on  the  war-path  ?  " 

"  Nothing  like  that.  But  why  does  a  senator 
of  the  United  States  put  his  nephew  in  that 
store  ?  Y'u  needn't  to  tell  me  it's  to  provide  for 


32  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

him,  for  it  don't  provide.  I  thought  I  had  it 
figured  out  last  night,  but  H oracles  don't  fit.  I 
can't  make  him  fit.  He  don't  understand  Injuns. 
That's  my  trouble.  Now  the  Uncle  must  know 
Horacles  don't  understand.  But  if  he  didn't 
know?"  pursued  Scipio,  and  fell  to  thinking. 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor  indulgently,  as  he  rose, 
"  it's  good  you  can  invent  these  romances.  Keeps 
you  from  fretting,  shut  up  here  alone." 

"  There 'd  be  no  romances  here,"  retorted  Scipio. 
"  Uncle  is  exclusively  hard  cash."  The  doctor 
departed. 

At  his  visit  next  morning,  he  was  pleased  with 
his  patient's  condition.  "  Keep  on,"  said  he,  "  and 
I'll  let  you  sit  up  Monday  for  ten  minutes.  Any 
more  romances  ? " 

"  Been  thinkin'  of  my  past  life,"  said  Scipio. 

The  doctor  laughed  long.  "  Why,  how  old  are 
you,  anyhow  ?  "  he  asked  at  length. 

"  Oh,  there's  some  lovely  years  still  to  come 
before  I'm  thirty.  But  I've  got  a  whole  lot  of 
past  life,  all  the  same."  Then  he  pointed  a  sol 
emn,  oracular  finger  at  the  doctor.  "  What  white 
man  savvys  the  Injun?  Not  you.  Not  me. 
And  I've  drifted  around  some,  too.  The  map 
of  the  United  States  has  been  my  home.  Been 


HAPPY-TEETH 


33 


in  Arizona  and  New  Mexico  and  among  the  Si- 
washes —  seen  all  kinds  of  Injun  —  but  I  don't 
savvy  'em.  I  know  most  any  Injun's  better'n 
most  any  white  man  till  he  meets  the  white  man. 
Not  smarter,  y'u  know,  but  better.  And  I  do 
know  this:  You  take  an  Injun  and  let  him  be 
a  warrior  and  a  chief  and  a  grandfather  who  has 
killed  heaps  of  white  men  in  his  day  —  but  all 
that  don't  make  him  grown  up.  Not  like  we're 
grown  up.  He  stays  a  child  in  some  respects 
till  he's  dead.  He'll  believe  things  and  be  scared 
at  things  that  ain't  nothin'  to  you  and  me.  You 
take  Old  High  Bear  right  on  this  reservation. 
He's  got  hair  like  snow  and  eyes  like  an  eagle's 
and  he  can  sing  a  war-song  about  fights  that  hap 
pened  when  our  fathers  were  kids.  But  if  you 
want  to  deal  with  him,  you  got  to  remember  he's 
a  child  of  five." 

"  I  do  know  all  this,"  said  the  doctor,  interested. 
"  I've  not  been  twenty  years  on  the  frontier  for 
nothing." 

"  Horacles  don't  know  it,"  said  Scipio.  "  I've 
saw  him  in  the  store  all  season." 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  see  you  to-morrow. 
I've  some  new  patients  in  the  ward." 

"Soldiers?" 


34  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Soldiers." 

"  Guess  I  know  why  they're  here." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  sighed  the  doctor.  "  You  know. 
Few  come  here  for  any  other  reason."  The 
doctor  held  views  about  how  a  military  post 
should  be  regulated,  which  popular  sentiment 
will  never  share.  "  Can  I  do  anything  for  you  ? " 
he  inquired. 

"  If  I  could  have  some  newspapers  ? "  said 
Scipio. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?"  said  the 
doctor.  After  that  he  saw  to  it  that  Scipio  had 
them  liberally. 

With  newspapers  the  patient  sat  surrounded 
deep,  when  the  Virginian,  passing  north  on  his 
way  to  Billings,  looked  in  for  a  moment  to  give 
his  friend  the  good  word.  That  is  what  he  came 
for,  but  what  he  said  was :  — 

"  So  he  has  got  false  teeth  ?  " 

Scipio,  hearing  the  voice  at  the  door,  looked 
over  the  top  of  his  paper  at  the  visitor. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  precisely  as  if  the  visitor 
had  never  been  out  of  the  room. 

"  What  d'  y'u  know? "  inquired  the  Virginian. 

"  Nothing ;   what  do  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing." 


HAPPY-TEETH  35 

After  all,  such  brief  greetings  cover  the  ground. 

"  Better  sit  down,"  suggested  Scipio. 

The  Virginian  sat,  and  took  up  a  paper.  Thus 
for  a  little  while  they  both  read  in  silence. 

"  Did  y'u  stop  at  the  Agency  as  y'u  came 
along?"  asked  Scipio,  not  looking  up  from  his 
paper. 

"  No." 

There  was  silence  again  as  they  continued 
reading.  The  Virginian,  just  come  from  Sunk 
Creek,  had  seen  no  newspapers  as  recent  as 
these.  When  two  friends  on  meeting  after  ab 
sence  can  sit  together  for  half  an  hour  without  a 
word  passing  between  them,  it  is  proof  that  they 
really  enjoy  each  other's  company.  The  gentle 
air  came  in  the  window,  bringing  the  tonic  odor 
of  the  sage-brush.  Outside  the  window  stretched 
a  yellow  world  to  distant  golden  hills.  The  talk 
ative  voice  of  a  magpie  somewhere  near  at  hand 
was  the  only  sound. 

"* Nothing  in  the  newspapers  in  particular," 
said  Scipio,  finally. 

"You  expaictin'  something  particular?"  the 
Virginian  asked. 

"Yes." 

"  Mind  sayin'  what  it  is  ?  " 


36  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

"  Wish  I  knew  what  it  is." 

"  Always  Horacles  ?  " 

"Always  him  —  and  Uncle.  I'd  like  to  spot 
Uncle." 

Mess  call  sounded  from  the  parade  ground.  It 
recalled  the  flight  of  time  to  the  Virginian. 

"  When  you  get  back  from  Billings,"  said 
Scipio,  "you're  liable  to  find  me  up  and  around." 

"  Hope  so.  Maybe  you'll  be  well  enough  to 
go  with  me  to  the  ranch." 

But  when  the  Virginian  returned,  a  great  deal 
had  happened  all  at  once,  as  is  the  custom  of 
events. 

Scipio's  vigorous  convalescence  brought  him 
in  the  next  few  days  to  sitting  about  in  the  open 
air,  and  then  enlarged  his  freedom  to  a  crutch. 
He  hobbled  hither  and  yon,  paying  visits,  many 
of  them  to  the  doctor.  The  doctor  it  was,  and 
no  newspaper,  who  gave  to  Scipio  the  first  grain 
of  that  "  something  particular "  which  he  had 
been  daily  seeking  and  never  found.  He  men 
tioned  a  new  building  that  was  being  put  up 
rather  far  away  down  in  the  corner  of  the  reser 
vation.  The  rumor  in  the  air  was  that  it  had 
something  to  do  with  the  Quartermaster's  de 
partment.  The  odd  thing  was  that  the  Quarter- 


HAPPY-TEETH  37 

master  himself  had  heard  nothing  about  it. 
The  Agent  up  at  the  Agency  store  considered 
this  extremely  odd.  But  a  profound  absence  of 
further  explanations  seemed  to  prevail.  What 
possible  need  for  a  building  was  there  r;l"  that 
inconvenient,  isolated  spot? 

Scipio  slapped  his  leg.  "  I  guess  what  y'u 
call  my  romance  is  about  to  start." 

"Well,"  the  doctor  admitted,  "it  may  be. 
Curious  things  are  done  upon  Indian  reserva 
tions.  Our  management  of  them  may  be  likened 
to  putting  the  Lord's  Prayer  and  the  Ten  Com 
mandments  into  a  bag  and  crushing  them  to 
powder.  Let  our  statesmen  at  Washington  get 
their  hands  on  an  Indian  reservation,  and  not 
even  honor  among  thieves  remains." 

"  Say,  doc,"  said  Scipio,  "  when  d'  y'u  guess 
I  can  get  off  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  in  too  much  of  a  hurry,"  the 
doctor  cautioned  him.  "  If  you  go  to  Sunk 
Creek  —  " 

"  Sunk  Creek !  I  only  want  to  go  to  the 
Agency." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  could  do  that  to-day  —  but 
don't  you  want  to  see  the  entertainment  ?  Con 
juring  tricks  are  promised." 


38  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  I  want  to  see  Horacles." 

"  But  he  is  the  entertainment  Supper  comes 
after  he's  through." 

Scipio  stayed.  He  was  not  repaid,  he  thought. 
"  A  poor  show,"  was  his  comment  as  he  went  to 
bed.  He  came  later  to  be  very  glad  indeed  that 
he  had  gone  to  that  entertainment. 

The  next  day  found  him  seated  in  the  Agency 
store,  being  warmly  greeted  by  his  friends  the 
Indians.  They  knew  him  well ;  perhaps  he 
understood  them  better  than  he  had  said.  By 
Horacles  he  was  not  warmly  greeted ;  perhaps 
Horacles  did  not  wish  to  be  understood  —  and 
then,  Scipio,  in  his  comings  and  goings  through 
the  reservation,  had  played  with  Horacles  for 
the  benefit  of  bystanders.  There  is  no  doubt 
whatever  that  Horacles  did  not  understand 
Scipio.  He  was  sorry  to  notice  how  the  Agent, 
his  employer,  shook  Scipio's  hand  and  invited 
him  to  come  and  stop  with  him  till  he  was  fit 
to  return  to  his  work.  And  Scipio  accepted 
this  invitation.  He  sat  him  down  in  the.  store, 
and  made  himself  at  home.  Legs  stretched  out 
on  one  chair,  crutch  within  reach,  hands  com 
fortably  clasped  round  the  arms  of  the  chair  he 
sat  in,  head  tilted  back,  eyes  apparently  studying 


HAPPY-TEETH  39 

the  goods  which  hung  from  the  beams  overhead, 
he  visibly  sniffed  the  air. 

"  Smell  anything  you  don't  like  ?  "  inquired 
the  clerk,  tartly  —  and  unwisely. 

"  Nothin'  except  you,  Horacles,"  was  the  per 
fectly  amiable  rejoinder. — "  It's  good,"  Scipio  then 
confessed,  "to  be  smellin'  buckskin  and  leather 
and  groceries  instead  of  ether  and  iodoform." 

"  Guess  you  were  pretty  sick,"  observed  the 
clerk,  with  relish. 

"Yes.  Oh,  yes.  I  was  pretty  sick.  That's 
right.  Yes."  Scipio  had*  continued  through 
these  slowly  drawled  remarks  to  look  at  the 
ceiling.  Then  his  glance  dropped  to  the  level 
of  Horacles,  and  keenly  fixed  that  unconscious 
youth's  plump  little  form,  pink  little  face,  and 
mean  little  mustache.  Behind  one  ear  stuck  a 
pen,  behind  the  other  a  pencil,  as  the  assistant 
clerk  was  arranging  some  tins  of  Arbuckle's 
Arioso  coffee.  Then  Scipio  took  aim  and  fired : 
"  So  you're  going  to  quit  your  job  ? " 

Horacles  whirled  round.     "  Who  says  so  ?  " 

The  chance  shot  —  if  there  ever  is  such  a 
thing,  if  such  shots  are  not  always  the  result  of 
visions  and  perceptidns  which  lie  beyond  our 
present  knowledge  —  this  chance  shot  had  hit. 


40  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  First  I've  heard  of  it,"  then  said  Horacles, 
sulkily.  "  Guess  you're  delirious  still."  He 
returned  to  his  coffee,  and  life  grew  more  inter 
esting  than  ever  to  Scipio. 

Instead  of  trickling  back,  health  began  to  rush 
back  into  his  long  imprisoned  body,  and  though 
he  could  not  fully  use  it  yet,  and  though  if  he 
hobbled  a  hundred  yards  he  was  compelled  to 
rest  it,  his  wiry  mind  knew  no  fatigue.  How 
athletic  his  brains  were  was  easily  perceived  by 
the  Indian  Agent.  The  convalescent  would 
hobble  over  to  the  store  after  breakfast  and  hail 
the  assistant  clerk  at  once.  "  Morning,  Hora 
cles,"  he  would  begin;  "how's  Uncle?"  — "Oh, 
when  are  you  going  to  give  us  a  new  joke  ?  "  the 
worried  Horacles  would  retort.  —  "Just  as  soon 
as  you  give  us  a  new  Uncle,  Horacles.  Or  any 
other  relation  to  make  us  feel  proud  we  know 
you.  What  did  his  letter  last  night  say  ?  "  The 
second  or  third  time  this  had  been  asked  still 
found  Horacles  with  no  better  repartee  than 
angry  silence.  "  Didn't  he  send  me  his  love  ? " 
Scipio  then  said ;  and  still  the  hapless  Horacles 
said  nothing.  "  Well,  y'u  give  him  mine  when 
you  write  him  this  afternoon."  —  "I  ain't  writ 
ing  this  afternoon,"  snapped  the  clerk.  —  "  You're 


HAPPY-TEETH  41 

not !  Why,  I  thought  you  wrote  each  other 
every  day ! "  This  was  so  near  the  truth  that 
H oracles  flared  out:  "  I'd  be  ashamed  if  I'd  noth 
ing  better  to  do  than  spy  on  other  people's 
mails." 

Thus  by  dinner-time  generally  an  audience 
would  be  gathered  round  Scipio  where  he  sat 
with  his  legs  on  the  chair,  and  Horacles  over  his 
ledger  would  be  furiously  muttering  that  "  Some 
day  they  would  all  see." 

Horacles  asked  for  a  couple  of  days'  holiday, 
and  got  it.  He  wished  to  hunt,  he  said.  But 
the  Agent  happened  to  find  that  he  had  been  to 
the  railroad  about  some  freight.  This  he  men 
tioned  to  Scipio.  "  I  don't  know  what  he's  up 
to,"  he  said.  He  had  found  that  worrying  Hora 
cles  was  merely  one  of  the  things  that  Scipio's 
brains  were  good  for;  Scipio  had  advised  him 
prudently  about  a  sale  of  beeves,  and  had  intro 
duced  a  simple  contrivance  for  luring  to  the  store 
the  customers  whom  Horacles  failed  to  attract. 
It  was  merely  a  free  lunch  counter,  —  cheese  and 
crackers  every  day,  and  deviled  ham  on  pay-day, 
—  but  it  put  up  the  daily  receipts. 

And  next,  one  evening  after  the  mail  was  in, 
Scipio,  sitting  alone  in  the  front  of  the  store, 


42  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

saw  the  Agent,  sitting  alone  in  the  back  of  the 
store,  spring  suddenly  from  his  chair,  crush  a 
newspaper  into  his  pocket,  and  stride  out  to  his 
house.  At  breakfast  the  Agent  spoke  thus  to 
Scipio :  — 

"  I  must  go  to  Washington.  I  shall  be  back 
before  they  let  you  and  your  leg  run  loose.  Will 
you  do  something  for  me  ?  " 

"  Name  it.     Just  name  it." 

"  Run  the  store  while  I'm  gone." 

"  D'  y'u  think  I  can  ?  " 

"  I  know  you  can.  There'll  be  no  trouble 
under  you.  You  understand  Indians." 

"  But  suppose  something  turns  up  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  anything  will  before  I'm  back. 
I'd  sooner  leave  you  than  Horacles  in  charge 
here.  Will  you  do  it  and  take  two  dollars  a 
day?" 

"  Do  it  for  nothing.  Horacles'll  be  compensa 
tion  enough." 

"  No,  he  won't.  —  And  see  here,  he  can't  help 
being  himself." 

"Enough  said.  I'll  strive  to  pity  him.  None 
of  us  was  consulted  about  being  born.  And  I'll 
keep  remembering  that  we  was  both  raised  at 
G?i\Yipoleece,  Ohio,  and  that  he  inherited  a  bigger 


HAPPY-TEETH  43 

outrage  of  a  name  than  I  did.  That's  what 
comes  of  havin'  a  French  ancestor.  —  Only,  he 
used  to  steal  my  lunch  at  school."  And  Scipio's 
bleached  blue  eye  grew  cold.  Later  injuries 
one  may  forgive,  but  school  ones  never. 

"  Didn't  you  whale  him  ?  "  asked  the  Agent. 

"  Every  time,"  said  Scipio,  "  till  he  told  Uncle. 
Uncle  was  mayor  of  GallipoUw*  then.  So  I 
wasn't  ready  to  get  expelled,  —  I  got  ready  later; 
nothin'  is  easier  than  gettin'  expelled,  —  but  I 
locked  up  my  lunch  after  that." 

"  Uncle's  pretty  good  to  him,"  muttered  the 
Agent.  "Got  him  this  position.  —  Well,  nobody 
will  expel  you  here.  Look  after  things.  I'll  feel 
easy  to  think  you're  on  hand." 

For  that  newspaper  which  the  Agent  had 
crushed  into  his  pocket,  Scipio  searched  cracks 
and  corners,  but  searched  in  vain.  A  fear  quite 
unreasoning  possessed  him  for  a  while  :  could  he 
but  learn  what  was  in  the  paper  that  had  so  stirred 
his  patron,  perhaps  he  could  avert  whatever  the 
thing  was  that  he  felt  in  the  air,  threatening  some 
sort  of  injury.  He  knew  himself  resourceful. 
Dislike  of  Horacles  and  Uncle  had  been  enough 
to  start  his  wish  to  thwart  them  —  if  there  was 
anything  to  thwart ;  but  now  pride  and  gratitude 


44  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

fired  him ;  he  had  been  trusted  ;  he  cared  more 
to  be  trusted  than  for  anything  on  earth;  he  must 
rise  equal  to  it  now !  The  Agent  had  evidently 
taken  the  paper  away  with  him  —  and  so  Scipio 
absurdly  read  all  the  papers.  He  collected  old 
ones,  and  laid  his  hands  upon  the  new  the 
moment  they  were  out  of  the  mail-bag.  It  may 
be  said  that  he  lived  daily  in  a  wrapping  of  news 
papers. 

"  Why,  you  have  got  Horacles  laughing  at  you." 

This  the  observant  Virginian  pointed  out  to 
Scipio  immediately  on  his  arrival  from  Billings. 
Scipio  turned  a  sickened  look  upon  his  friend. 
The  look  was  accompanied  by  a  cold  wave  in  his 
stomach. 

"  Y'u  cert'nly  have,"  the  remorseless  friend  pur 
sued.  "  I  reckon  he  must  have  had  a  plumb 
happy  time  watchin'  y'u  still-hunt  them  news 
papers.  Now  who'd  ever  have  foretold  you  would 
afford  Horacles  enjoyment?" 

In  a  weak  voice  Scipio  essayed  to  fight  it  off. 
"  Don't  you  try  to  hoodwink  me  with  any  of  your 
frog  lies." 

"  No  need,"  said  the  Virginian.  "  From  the 
door  as  I  came  in  I  saw  him  at  his  desk  lookin' 
at  y'u  easy-like.  'Twas  a  right  quaint  pictyeh  — 


HAPPY-TEETH  45 

him  smilin'  at  the  desk,  and  your  nose  tight 
agaynst  the  Omaha  Bee.  I  thought  first  y'u  didn't 
have  a  handkerchief." 

"  I  wonder  if  he  has  me  beat  ?  "  muttered  poor 
Scipio. 

The  Virginian  now  had  a  word  of  consolation. 
"  Don't  y'u  see,"  he  again  pointed  out,  "  that  no 
newspaper  could  have  helped  you  ?  If  it  could 
why  did  he  go  away  to  Washington  without 
tellin'  you  ?  He  don't  look  for  you  to  deal  with 
troubles  he  don't  mention  to  you." 

"  I  wonder  if  Horacles  has  me  beat  ? "  said 
Scipio  once  more. 

The  Virginian  standing  by  the  seated,  brooding 
man  clapped  him  twice  on  the  shoulders,  gently. 
It  was  enough.  They  were  very  fast  friends. 

"  I  know,"  said  Scipio  in  response.  "  Thank 
y'u.  But  I'd  hate  for  him  to  have  me  beat." 

It  was  the  doctor  who  now  furnished  information 
that  would  have  relieved  any  reasonable  man  from 
a  sense  of  failure.  The  doctor  was  excited  be 
cause  his  view  of  our  faith  in  Indian  matters  was 
again  justified  by  a  further  instance. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  he  said.  "  Just  give  those  people 
at  Washington  time,  and  every  step  they've  taken 
from  the  start  will  be  in  the  mud  puddle  of  a  lie. 


46  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

Uncle's  in  the  game  all  right.  He's  been  medi 
tating  how  to  serve  his  country  and  increase  his 
income.  There's  a  railroad  at  the  big  end  of  his 
notion,  but  the  entering  wedge  seems  only  to  be 
a  new  store  down  in  the  corner  of  this  reserva 
tion.  You  see,  it  has  been  long  settled  by  the 
sacredest  compacts  that  two  stores  shall  be  enough 
here  —  the  Post-trader's  and  the  Agent's — but 
the  dear  Indians  need  a  third,  Uncle  says.  He 
has  told  the  Senate  and  the  Interior  Department 
and  the  White  House  that  a  lot  of  them  have  to 
travel  too  far  for  supplies.  So  now  Washington 
is  sure  the  Indians  need  a  third  store.  The 
Post-trader  and  the  Agent  are  stopping  at  the 
Post  to-night.  They  got  East  too  late  to  hold  up 
the  job.  If  Horacles  opens  that  new  store,  the 
Agent  might  just  as  well  shut  up  his  own." 

"  Ain't  y'u  going  to  look  at  my  leg  ?  "  was  all 
the  reply  that  Scipio  made. 

The  doctor  laughed.  It  was  to  examine  the 
leg  that  he  had  come,  and  he  had  forgotten  all 
about  it.  "  You  can  forget  all  about  it,  too,"  he 
told  Scipio  when  he  had  finished.  "  Go  back  to 
Sunk  Creek  when  you  like.  Go  back  to  full  work 
next  week,  say.  Your  wicked  body  is  sound  again. 
A  better  man  would  unquestionably  have  died." 


HAPPY-TEETH  47 

But  the  cheery  doctor  could  not  cheer  the  un 
reasonable  Scipio.  In  the  morning  the  compla 
cent  little  Horacles  made  known  to  all  the  world 
his  perfected  arrangements.  Directly  the  Agent 
had  safely  turned  his  back  and  gone  to  Washing 
ton,  his  disloyal  clerk  had  become  doubly  busy. 
He  had  at  once  perceived  that  this  was  a  comfort 
able  time  for  him  to  hurry  his  new  rival  store 
into  readiness  and  be  securely  established  behind 
its  counter  before  his  betrayed  employer  should 
return.  In  this  last  he  might  not  quite  succeed  ; 
the  Agent  had  come  back  a  day  or  two  sooner 
than  Horacles  had  calculated,  but  it  was  a  trifle ; 
after  all,  he  had  carried  through  the  small  part  of 
his  uncle's  scheme  which  he  had  been  sent  here 
to  do.  Inside  that  building  in  the  far  corner  of 
the  reservation,  once  rumored  to  be  connected 
with  the  Quartermaster's  department,  he  would 
now  sell  luxuries  and  necessities  to  the  Indians 
at  a  price  cheaper  than  his  employer's,  and  his 
employer's  store  would  henceforth  be  empty  of 
customers.  Perhaps  the  sweetest  moment  that 
Horacles  had  known  for  many  weeks  was  when 
he  said  to  Scipio:  — 

"  I'm  writing  Uncle  about  it  to-day." 

That  this  should  have  gone  on  under  his  nose 


48  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

while  he  sat  searching  the  papers  was  to  Scipio 
utterly  unbearable.  His  mind  was  in  a  turmoil, 
feeling  about  helplessly  but  furiously  for  ven 
geance  ;  and  the  Virginian's  sane  question  — • 
What  could  he  have  done  to  stop  it  if  he  had 
discovered  it  ? — comforted  him  not  at  all.  They 
were  outside  the  store,  sitting  under  a  tree,  wait 
ing  for  the  returning  Agent  to  appear.  But  he 
did  not  come,  and  the  suspense  added  to  Scipio's 
wretchedness. 

"  He  put  me  in  charge,"  he  kept  repeating. 

"  The  driver  ain't  responsible  when  a  stage  is 
held  up,"  reasoned  the  Virginian. 

Scipio  hardly  heard  him.  "  He  put  me  in 
charge,"  he  said.  Then  he  worked  round  to 
Horacles  again.  "  He  ain't  got  strength.  He 
ain't  got  beauty.  He  ain't  got  riches.  He  ain't 
got  brains.  He's  just  got  sense  enough  for  parlor 
conjuring  tricks  —  not  good  ones,  either.  And 
yet  he  has  me  beat." 

"  He's  got  an  uncle  in  the  Senate,"  said  the 
Virginian. 

The  disconsolate  Scipio  took  a  pull  at  his 
cigar,  —  he  had  taken  one  between  every  sen 
tence.  "  Damn  his  false  teeth." 

The  Virginian  looked  grave.     "  Don't  be  hasty. 


HAPPY-TEETH  49 

Maybe  the  day  will  come  when  you  and  me'll 
need  'em'  to  chew  our  tenderloin." 

"  We'll  be  old.     Horacles  is  twenty-five." 

"  Twenty-five  is  certainly  young  to  commence 
eatin'  by  machinery,"  admitted  the  Virginian. 

"  And  he's  proud  of  'em,"  whined  Scipio. 
"  Proud !  Opens  his  bone  box  and  sticks  'em 
out  at  y'u  on  the  end  of  his  tongue." 

"  I  hate  an  immodest  man,"  said  the  Virginian. 

"  Why,  he  hadn't  any  better  sense  than  to  do  it 
over  to  the  officers'  club  right  before  the  ladies 
and  everybody  the  other  night.  The  K.  O.'s  wife 
said  it  gave  her  the  creeps  —  and  she  don't  look 
sensitive." 

"  Well,"  said  the  Virginian,  "  if  I  weighed  three 
hundred  pounds  I'd  be  turrable  sensitive." 

"She  had  to  leave,"  pursued  Scipio.  "  Had  to 
take  her  little  girl  away  from  the  show.  Them 
teeth  comin'  out  of  Horacles'es  mouth  the  way 
they  did  sent  the  child  into  hysterics.  Y'u  could 
hear  her  screechin'  half  way  down  the  line." 

The  Virginian  looked  at  his  watch.  "  I 
wonder  if  that  Agent  is  coming  here  at  all  to 
day?" 

Scipio's  worried  face  darkened  again.  "  What 
can  I  do  ?  What  can  I  ? "  he  demanded.  And 


50  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

he  rose  and  limped  up  and  down  where  the 
ponies  were  tied  in  front  of  the  store.  The  fickle 
Indians  would  soon  be  tying  these  ponies  in  front 
of  the  rival  store.  "  I  received  this  business  in 
good  shape,"  continued  Scipio,  "  and  I'll  hand  it 
back  in  bad." 

Horacles  looked  out  of  the  door.  He  wore  his 
hat  tilted  to  make  him  look  like  the  dare-devil 
that  he  was  not;  dare-devils  seldom  have  soft 
pink  hands,  red  eyelids,  and  a  fluffy  mustache. 
He  smiled  at  Scipio,  and  Scipio  smiled  at  him, 
sweetly  and  dangerously. 

"  Would  you  mind  keeping  store  while  I'm 
off?"  inquired  Horacles. 

"Sure  not!"  cried  Scipio,  with  heartiness. 
"  Coin'  to  have  your  grand  opening  this  after 
noon  ? " 

"  Well,  I  was!'  Horacles  replied,  enjoying  him 
self  every  moment.  "  But  Mr.  Forsythe"  (this  was 
the  Agent)  "can't  get  over  from  the  Post  in  time  to 
be  present  this  afternoon.  It's  very  kind  of  him 
to  want  to  be  present  when  I  start  my  new  enter 
prise,  and  I  appreciate  it,  boys,  I  can  tell  you. 
So  I  sent  him  word  I  wouldn't  think  of  opening 
without  him,  and  it's  to  be  to-morrow  morning." 

While  Horacles  was  speaking  thus,  the  Indians 


HAPPY-TEETH  51 

had  gathered  about  to  listen.  It  was  plain  that 
they  understood  that  this  was  a  white  man's 
war ;  their  great,  grave,  watching  faces  showed  it. 
Young  squaws,  half-hooded  in  their  shawls, 
looked  on  with  bright  eyes ;  a  boy  who  had  been 
sitting  out  on  the  steps  playing  a  pipe,  stopped 
his  music,  and  came  in ;  the  aged  Pounded  Meat, 
wrapped  in  scarlet  and  shrunk  with  years  to  the 
appearance  of  a  dried  apple,  watched  with  eyes 
that  still  had  in  them  the  primal  fire  of  life ;  tall 
in  a  corner  stood  the  silver-haired  High  Bear, 
watching  too.  Did  they  understand  the  white 
man's  war  lying  behind  the  complacent  smile  of 
Horacles  and  the  dangerous  smile  of  the  lounging 
Scipio  ?  The  red  man  is  grave  when  war  is 
in  question  ;  all  the  Indians  were  perfectly  still. 

"  Wish  you  boys  could  be  there  to  give  me  a 
good  send-off,"  continued  Horacles. 

The  pipe-playing  Indian  boy  must  have  caught 
some  flash  of  something  beneath  Scipio's  smile, 
for  his  eye  went  to  Scipio's  pistol  —  but  it 
returned  to  Scipio's  face. 

Horacles  spoke  on.  "  Fine  line  of  fresh  East 
ern  goods,  dry  goods,  candies,  and  —  hee-hee  !  — 
free  lunch.  Mr.  Le  Moyne,  I  want  to  thank  you 
publicly  for  that  idea." 


52  MEMBERS   OF   THE    FAMILY 

"  Y'u're  welcome  to  it.  Guess  I'll  hardly  be 
over  to-morrow,  though.  With  such  a  compet 
itor  as  you,  I  expect  I'll  have  to  stay  with  my  job 
and  hustle." 

"  Ah,  well,"  simpered  Horacles,  "  I  couldn't 
have  done  it  by  myself.  My  Uncle  —  say,  boys  !  " 
(Horacles  in  the  elation  of  victory  now  melted  to 
pure  good- will)  "do  come  see  me  to-morrow.  It's 
all  business,  this,  you  know.  There's  no  hard 
feelings? " 

The  pipe  boy  couldn't  help  looking  at  the  pis 
tol  again. 

"  Not  a  feeling ! "  cried  Scipio.  And  he 
clapped  Horacles  between  his  little  round  shoul 
ders.  With  head  on  one  side,  he  looked  down 
along  his  lengthy,  jocular  nose  at  Horacles  for  a 
moment.  Then  his  eye  shone  upon  the  company 
like  the  edge  of  a  knife  —  and  they  laughed  at 
him  because  he  was  laughing  so  contagiously  at 
them ;  a  soft  laugh,  like  the  fall  of  moccasins. 
Often  the  Indian  will  join,  like  a  child,  in  mirth 
which  he  does  not  comprehend.  High  Bear's 
smile  shone  from  his  corner  at  young  Scipio, 
whom  he  fancied  so  much  that  he  had  offered 
him  his  fourteenth  daughter  to  wed  as  soon  as 
his  leg  should  be  well.  But  Scipio  had  sorrow- 


HAPPY-TEETH  53 

fully  explained  to  the  father  that  he  was  already 
married  —  which  was  true,  but  which  I  fear  would 
in  former  days  have  proved  no  impediment  to 
him.  Perhaps  some  day  I  may  tell  you  of  the 
early  marriages  of  Scipio  as  Scipio  in  hospital 
narrated  them  to  me. 

"  Hey !  "  said  High  Bear  now,  to  Scipio.  u  New 
store.  Pretty  good.  Heap  cheap." 

"  Yes,  High  Bear.  Heap  cheap.  You  savvy 
why  ? " 

With  a  long  arm  and  an  outstretched  finger, 
Scipio  suddenly  pointed  to  Horacles.  At  this 
the  Virginian's  hitherto  unchanging  face  wa 
kened  to  curiosity  and  attention.  Scipio  was  now 
impressively  and  mysteriously  nodding  at  the  sil 
ver-haired  chief  in  his  bright,  green  blanket,  and 
his  long,  fringed,  yellow,  soft  buckskins. 

"  No  savvy,"  said  High  Bear,  after  a  pause,  with 
a  tinge  of  caution.  He  had  followed  Scipio's 
pointing  finger  to  where  Horacles  was  happily 
practising  a  trick  with  a  glass  and  a  silver  dollar 
behind  the  counter. 

"  Heap  cheap,"  repeated  Scipio,  "  because " 
(here  he  leaned  close  to  High  Bear  and  whis 
pered)  "  because  his  uncle  medicine-man.  He 
big  medicine-man,  too." 


54  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

High  Bear's  eyes  rested  for  a  moment  on 
Horacles.  Then  he  shook  his  head.  "  Ah, 
nah,"  he  grunted.  "  He  not  medicine-man.  He 
fall  off  horse.  He  no  catch  horse.  My  little 
girl  catch  him.  Ah,  nah  !  "  High  Bear  laughed 
profusely  at  "  Sippo's  "  joke.  "  Sippo  "  was  the 
Indians'  English  name  for  their  vivacious  friend. 
In  their  own  language  they  called  him  something 
complimentary  in  several  syllables,  but  it  was  al 
together  too  intimate  and  too  plain-spoken  for  me 
to  repeat  aloud.  Into  his  whisper  Scipio  now 
put  more  electricity.  "  He's  big  medicine  man," 
he  hissed  again,  and  he  drilled  his  bleached  blue 
eye  into  the  brown  one  of  the  savage.  "  See  him 
now !  "  He  stretched  out  a  vibrating  finger. 

It  was  a  pack  of  cards  that  Horacles  was  lightly 
manipulating.  He  fluttered  it  open  in  the  air  and 
fluttered  it  shut  again,  drawing  it  out  like  a  con 
certina  and  pushing  it  flat  like  an  opera  hat  — 
nor  did  a  card  fall  to  the  ground. 

High  Bear  watched  it  hard;  but  soon  High 
Bear  laughed.  "  He  pretty  good,"  he  declared. 
"  All  same  tin-horn  monte-man.  I  see  one  Miles 
City." 

"  Maybe  monte-man  medicine-man  too,"  sug 
gested  Scipio. 


HAPPY-TEETH  55 

"  Ah,  nah  !  "  said  High  Bear.  Yet  nevertheless 
Scipio  saw  him  shoot  one  or  two  more  doubtful 
glances  at  Horacles  as  that  happy  clerk  contin 
ued  his  activities. 

Horacles  had  an  audience  (which  he  liked), 
and  he  held  his  audience  —  and  who  could  help 
liking  that?  The  bucks  and  squaws  watched 
him,  sometimes  nudging  one  another,  and  they 
smiled  and  grunted  their  satisfaction  at  his 
news.  Cheaper  prices  was  something  which 
their  primitive  minds  could  take  in  as  well  as 
any  of  us. 

"  Why  you  not  sell  cheap  like  him  ? "  they 
asked  their  friend  "  Sippo."  "  We  stay  then. 
Not  go  his  store."  This  was  the  burden  of  their 
chorus,  soft,  laughing,  a  little  mocking,  floating 
among  them  like  a  breeze,  voice  after  voice :  — 

"  We  like  buy  everything  you,  we  like  buy 
everything  cheap." 

"  You  make  cheap,  we  buy  heap  shirts." 

"  Buy  heap  tobacco." 

"  Heap  cartridge." 

"  You  not  sell  cheap,  we  go." 

"  Ah ! " 

The  chorus  laughed  like  pleased  children. 

Scipio  looked  at  them  solemnly.    He  explained 


56  MEMBERS   OF   THE    FAMILY 

how  much  he  would  like  to  sell  cheap,  if  only  he 
were  a  medicine-man  like  Horacles. 

"  You  medicine-man  ? "  they  asked  the  assist 
ant  clerk. 

"Yes,"  said   Horacles,  pleased.     "I  big  medi 


cine-man." 


"  Ah,  nah  ! "  The  soft,  mocking  words  ran 
among  them  like  the  flight  of  a  moth. 

Soon  with  their  hoods  over  their  heads  they 
began  to  go  home  on  their  ponies,  blanketed, 
feathered,  many-colored,  moving  and  dispersing 
wide  across  the  sage-brush  to  their  far-scattered 
tepees. 

High  Bear  lingered  last.  For  a  long  while 
he  had  been  standing  silent  and  motionless. 
When  the  chorus  spoke  he  had  not ;  when  the 
chorus  laughed  he  had  not.  Now  his  head 
moved ;  he  looked  about  him  and  saw  that  for 
a  moment  he  was  alone  in  a  way.  He  saw 
the  Virginian  reading  a  newspaper,  and  his 
friend  "  Sippo "  bending  down  and  attending 
to  his  leg.  Horacles  had  gone  into  an  inner 
room.  Left  on  the  counter  lay  the  pack  of  cards. 
High  Bear  went  quickly  to  the  cards,  touched 
them,  lifted  them,  set  them  down,  and  looked 
about  him  again.  But  the  Virginian  was  read- 


HAPPY-TEETH  57 

ing  still,  and  Scipio  was  still  bent  down,  having 
some  trouble  with  his  boot.  High  Bear  looked 
at  the  cards,  shook  his  head  sceptically,  laughed 
a  little,  grunted  once,  and  went  out  where  his 
pony  was  tied.  As  he  was  throwing  his  soft 
buckskin  leg  over  the  saddle,  there  was  Scipio's 
head  thrust  out  of  the  door  and  nodding 
strangely  at  him. 

"  Good  night,  High  Bean     He  big  medicine 


man." 


High  Bear  gave  a  quick  slash  to  his  pony, 
and  galloped  away  into  the  dusk. 

Then  Scipio  limped  back  into  the  store,  sank 
into  the  first  chair  he  came  to,  and  doubled  over. 
The  Virginian  looked  up  from  his  paper  at  this 
mirth,  scowled,  and  turned  back  to  his  reading. 
If  he  was  to  be  "  left  out "  of  the  joke,  he  would 
make  it  plain  that  he  was  not  in  the  least  in 
terested  in  it. 

Scipio  now  sat  up  straight,  bursting  to  share 
what  was  in  his  mind ;  but  he  instantly  per 
ceived  how  it  was  with  the  Virginian.  At  this 
he  redoubled  his  silent  symptoms  of  Delight. 
In  a  moment  Horacles  had  come  back  from  the 
inner  room  with  his  hair  wet  with  ornamental 
brushing. 


58  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Well,  Horacles,"  began  Scipio  in  the  voice 
of  a  purring  cat,  "  I  expect  y'u  have  me  beat." 

The  flattered  clerk  could  only  nod  and  show 
his  bright,  false  teeth. 

"Y'u  have  me  beat,"  repeated  Scipio.  "Y'u 
have  for  a  fact." 

"Not  you,  Mr.  Le  Moyne.  It's  not  you  I'm 
making  war  on.  I  do  hope  there's  no  hard 
feelings  —  " 

"  Not  a  feelin',  Horacles !  How  can  y'u  enter 
tain  such  an  idea  ? "  Scipio  shook  him  by  the 
hand  and  smiled  like  an  angel  at  him  —  a  fallen 
angel.  "  What's  the  use  of  me  keepin'  this  store 
open  to-morrow  ?  Nobody'll  be  here  to  spend 
a  cent.  Guess  I'll  shut  up,  Horacles,  and  come 
watch  the  Injuns  all  shoppin'  like  Christmas  over 
to  your  place." 

The  Virginian  sustained  his  indifference,  and 
added  to  Scipio's  pleasure.  But  during  break 
fast  the  Virginian  broke  down. 

"  Reckon  you're  ready  to  start  to-day  ?  "  he  said. 

"Start?     Where  for?" 

"Sivik  Creek,  y'u  fool!     Where  else?" 

"  I'm  beyond  y'u !  I'm  sure  beyond  y'u  for 
once ! "  screeched  Scipio,  beating  his  crutch  on 
the  floor. 


HAPPY-TEETH  $9 

"  Oh,  eat  your  grub,  y'u  fool." 

"  I'd  have  told  y'u  last  night,"  said  Scipio, 
remorselessly,  "  only  }'u  were  so  awful  anxious 
not  to  be  told." 

As  the  Virginian  drove  him  across  the  sage 
brush,  not  to  Sunk  Creek,  but  to  the  new  store, 
the  suspense  was  once  more  too  much  for  the 
Southerner's  curiosity.  He  pulled  up  the  horses 
as  the  inspiration  struck  him. 

"  You're  going  to  tell  the  Indians  you'll  under 
sell  him  !  "  he  declared,  over-hastily. 

"  Oh,  drive  on,  y'u  fool,"  said  Scipio. 

The  baffled  Virginian  grinned.  "  I'll  throw 
you  out,"  he  said,  "and  break  all  your  laigs  and 
bones  and  things  fresh." 

"  I  wish  Uncle  was  going  to  be  there,"  said 
Scipio. 

Nearly  everybody  else  was  there :  the  Agent, 
bearing  his  ill  fortune  like  a  philosopher ;  some 
officers  from  the  Post,  and  the  doctor;  some 
enlisted  men,  blue-legged  with  yellow  stripes; 
civilians  male  and  female,  honorable  and  shady ; 
and  then  the  Indians.  Wagons  were  drawn  up, 
ponies  stood  about,  the  littered  plain  was  pop 
ulous.  Horacles  moved  behind  the  counter,  busy 
and  happy ;  his  little  mustache  was  combed,  his 


60  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

ornamental  hair  was  damp.  He  smiled  and 
talked,  and  handled  and  displayed  his  abun 
dance  :  the  bright  calicoes,  the  shining  knives, 
the  clean  six-shooters  and  rifles,  the  bridles,  the 
fishing-tackle,  the  gum-drops  and  chocolates  — 
all  his  plenty  and  its  cheapness. 

Squaws  and  bucks  young  and  old  thronged 
his  establishment,  their  soft  footfalls  and  voices 
made  a  gentle  continuous  sound,  while  their 
green  and  yellow  blankets  bent  and  stood 
straight  as  they  inspected  and  purchased.  High 
Bear  held  an  earthen  crock  with  a  luxury  in  it  — 
a  dozen  of  fresh  eggs.  "  Hey !  "  he  said  when  he 
saw  his  friend  "  Sippo  "  enter.  "  Heap  cheap." 
And  he  showed  the  eggs  to  Scipio.  He  cherished 
the  crock  with  one  hand  and  arm  while  with  the 
other  hand  he  helped  himself  to  the  free  lunch. 

To  Scipio  Horacles  "extended"  a  special  wel 
come  ;  he  made  it  ostentatious  in  order  that  all 
the  world  might  know  how  perfectly  absent  "  hard 
feelings "  were.  And  Scipio  on  his  side  wore 
openly  the  radiance  of  brotherhood  and  well-wish 
ing.  He  went  about  admiring  everything,  ex 
claiming  now  and  then  over  the  excellence  of  the 
goods,  or  the  cheapness  of  their  price.  His  pres 
ence  was  soon  no  longer  a  cause  of  curiosity,  and 


HAPPY-TEETH  61 

they  forgot  to  watch  him  —  all  of  them  except  the 
Virginian.  The  hours  passed  on,  the  little  fires, 
where  various  noon  meals  were  cooked,  burnt 
out,  satisfied  individuals  began  to  depart  after  an 
entertaining  day,  the  Agent  himself  was  saunter 
ing  toward  his  horse. 

"  What's  your  hurry  ?  "  said  Scipio. 

"  Well,  the  show  is  over,"  said  the  Agent. 

"  Oh,  no,  it  ain't.  Horacles  is  goin'  to  entertain 
us  a  whole  lot." 

"  Better  stay,"  said  the  Virginian. 

The  Agent  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 
Then  he  spoke  anxiously.  "  I  don't  want  any 
thing  done  to  Horacles." 

"  Nothing  will  be  done,"  stated  Scipio. 

The  Agent  stayed.  The  magnetic  current  of 
expectancy  passed,  none  could  say  how,  through 
the  assembled  people.  No  one  departed  after 
this,  and  the  mere  loitering  of  spectators  turned 
to  waiting.  Particularly  expectant  was  the  Vir 
ginian,  and  this  he  betrayed  by  mechanically 
droning  in  his  strongest  accent  a  little  song  that 
bore  no  reference  to  the  present  occasion:  — 

"  Of  all  my  fatheh's  familee 

I  love  myself  the  baist, 
And  if  Gawd  will  just  look  afteh  me 
The  devil  may  take  the  raist." 


62  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

The  sun  grew  lower.  The  world  outside  was 
still  full  of  light,  but  dimness  had  begun  its  subtle 
pervasion  of  the  store.  Horacles  thanked  the 
Indians  and  every  one  for  their  generous  patron 
age  on  this  his  opening  day,  and  intimated  that  it 
was  time  to  close.  Scipio  rushed  up  and  whis 
pered  to  him :  — 

"  My  goodness,  Horacles!  You  ain't  going  to 
send  your  friends  home  like  that  ?  " 

Horacles  was  taken  aback. '  "  Why,"  he  stam 
mered,  "  what's  wrong  ?  " 

"  Where's  your  vanishing  handkerchief,  Hora 
cles?  Get  it  out  and  entertain  'em  some.  Show 
you're  grateful.  Where's  that  trick  dollar  ?  Get 
'em  quick.  —  I  tell  you,"  he  declaimed  aloud  to 
the  Indians,  "  he  big  medicine-man.  Make  come. 
Make  go.  You  no  see.  Nobody  see.  Make 
jack-rabbit  in  hat  —  " 

"  I  couldn't  to-night,"  simpered  Horacles. 
"  Needs  preparation,  you  know."  And  he  winked 
at  Scipio. 

Scipio  struggled  upon  the  counter,  and  stood 
up  above  their  heads  to  finish  his  speech.  "  No 
jack-rabbit  this  time,"  he  said. 

"  Ah,  nah  !  "  laughed  the  Indians.     "  No  catch 


urn." 


HAPPY-TEETH  63 

"  Yes,  catch  um  any  time.  Catch  anything. 
Make  anything.  Make  all  this  store  "  —  Scipio 
moved  his  arms  about  —  "  that's  how  make  heap 
cheap.  See  that ! "  He  stopped  dramatically, 
and  clasped  his  hands  together.  Horacles  tossed 
a  handkerchief 4n  the  air,  caught  it,  shut  his  hand 
upon  it  with  a  kneading  motion,  and  opened  the 
hand  empty.  "  His  fingers  swallow  it,  all  same 
mouth!  "  shouted  Scipio.  "  He  big  medicine 
man.  You  see.  Now  other  hand  spit  out."  But 
Horacles  varied  the  trick.  Success  and  the  star 
ing  crowd  elated  him;  he  was  going  to  do  his 
best.  He  opened  both  hands  empty,  felt  about 
him  in  the  air,  clutched  space  suddenly,  and  drew 
two  silver  dollars  from  it.  Then  he  threw  them 
back  into  space,  again  felt  about  for  them  in  the 
air,  made  a  dive  at  High  Bear's  eggs,  and  brought 
handkerchief  and  dollars  out  of  them. 

"Ho!"  went  High  Bear,  catching  his  breath. 
He  backed  away  from  the  reach  of  Horacles.  He 
peered  down  into  the  crock  among  his  eggs. 
Horacles  whispered  to  Scipio  :  — 

"  Keep  talking  till  I'm  ready." 

"  Oh,  I'll  talk.  Go  get  ready  quick,  —  High 
Bear,  what  I  tell  you  ?  "  But  High  Bear's  eye 
was  now  fixedly  watching  the  door  through 


64  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

which  Horacles  had  withdrawn ;  he  did  not  listen 
as  Scipio  proceeded.  "  What  I  tell  everybody  ? 
He  do  handkerchief.  He  do  dollar.  He  do  heap 
more.  See  me.  I  no  can  do  like  him.  I  not  medi 
cine-man.  I  throw  handkerchief  and  dollar  in  the 
air,  look !  See !  they  tumble  on  floor  no  good, 
—  thank  you,  my  kind  noble  friend  from  Virginia, 
you  pick  my  fool  dollar  and  my  fool  handkerchief 
up  for  me,  muy  pronto.  Oh,  thank  you,  black- 
haired,  green-eyed  son  of  Dixie,  you  have  the 
manners  of  a  queen,  but  I  no  medicine-man,  I 
shall  never  turn  a  skunk  into  a  watermelon,  I 
innocent,  I  young,  I  helpless  babe,  I  suck  bottle 
when  I  can  get  it.  Fire  and  water  will  not  obey 
me.  Old  man  Makes-the-Thunder  does  not  know 
my  name  and  address.  He  spit  on  me  Wednesday 
night  last,  and  there  are  no  dollars  in  this  man's 
hair."  (The  Virginian  winced  beneath  Scipio's 
vicious  snatch  at  his  scalp,  and  the  Agent  and 
the  doctor  retired  to  a  dark  corner  and  laid  their 
heads  in  each  other's  waistcoats.)  "  Ha !  he 
comes!  Big  medicine-man  comes.  See  him,  High 
Bear!  His  father,  his  mother,  his  aunts  all  twins, 
he  ninth  dog-pup  in  three  sets  of  triplets,  and 
the  great  white  Ram-of-the-Mountains  fed  him 
on  punkin-seed.  —  Sick  'em,  Horacles." 


HAPPY-TEETH  65 

The  burning  eye  of  High  Bear  now  blazed 
with  distended  fascination,  riveted  upon  Hora- 
cles,  whom  it  never  left.  Darkness  was  gather 
ing  in  the  store. 

"  Hand  all  same  foot,"  shouted  Scipio,  with 
gestures,  "  mouth  all  same  hand.  Can  eat  fire. 
Can  throw  ear  mile  off  and  listen  .you  talk." 
Here  Horacles  removed  a  dollar  from  the  hair 
of  High  Bear's  fourteenth  daughter,  threw  it  into 
one  boot,  and  brought  it  out  of  the  other.  The 
daughter  screamed  and  burrowed  behind  her  sire. 
All  the  Indians  had  drawn  close  together,  away 
from  the  counter,  while  Scipio  on  top  of  the 
counter  talked  high  and  low,  and  made  gestures 
without  ceasing.  "  Hand  all  same  mouth.  Foot 
all  same  head.  Take  off  head,  throw  it  out  win 
dow,  it  jump  in  door.  See  him,  see  big  medicine 
man  !  "  And  Scipio  gave  a  great  shriek. 

A  gasp  went  among  the  Indians ;  red  fire  was 
blowing  from  the  jaws  of  Horacles.  It  ceased, 
and  after  it  came  slowly,  horribly,  a  long  red 
tongue,  and  riding  on  the  tongue's  end  glittered 
a  row  of  teeth.  There  was  a  crash  upon  the 
floor.  It  was  High  Bear's  crock.  The  old  chief 
was  gone.  Out  of  the  door  he  flew,  his  blanket 
over  his  face,  and  up  on  his  horse  he  sprang, 


66  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

wildly  beating  the  animal.  Squaws  and  bucks 
flapped  after  him  like  poultry,  rushing  over  the 
ground,  leaping  on  their  ponies,  melting  away 
into  the  dusk.  In  a  moment  no  sign  of  them 
was  left  but  the  broken  eggs,  oozing  about  on 
the  deserted  floor. 

The  white  men  there  stood  tearful,  dazed,  and 
weak  with  laughter. 

" '  Happy- Teeth '  should  be  his  name,"  said 
the  Virginian.  "  It  sounds  Injun."  And  Happy- 
Teeth  it  was.  But  Horacles  did  not  remain  long 
in  the  neighborhood  after  he  realized  what  he 
had  done ;  for  never  again  did  an  Indian  enter, 
or  even  come  near,  that  den  of  flames  and  magic. 
They  would  not  even  ride  past  it ;  they  circled  it 
widely.  The  idle  merchandise  that  filled  it  was 
at  last  bought  by  the  Agent  at  a  reduction. 

"Well,"  said  Scipio  bashfully  to  the  Agent, 
"I'd  have  sure  hated  to  hand  y'u  back  a  ruined 
business.  But  he'll  never  understand  Injuns." 


Out  of  the  door  he  flew,  —  squaws  and  bucks  flapped  after  him  like 

poultry 


II 

SPIT-CAT   CREEK 

THE  cabin  on  Spit-Cat  Creek  lies  lonely  among 
the  high  pastures,  and  looks  down  to  further  lone 
liness  across  many  slanting  levels  of  pine-tops. 
These  descend  successively  in  smooth,  odorous, 
evergreen  miles  until  they  reach  the  open  valley. 
Here  runs  the  stage  road,  if  you  can  discern  it, 
from  the  railway  to  the  continuously  jubilant 
cow-town  of  Likely,  Wyoming;  and  here,  when 
viewed  from  the  cabin  through  a  field-glass,  you 
can  readily  distinguish  an  antelope  from  a  stone 
in  the  clear  atmosphere  which  commonly  pre 
vails.  The  windows  of  the  cabin  are  three,  and 
looking  in  through  any  of  them  you  can  see  the 
stove,  the  table,  and  the  ingenuous  structure 
which  does  duty  as  a  bed.  During  the  season 
of  snow,  from  November  until  May,  the  cabin 
(in  the  days  of  which  I  speak)  was  dwelt  in  by 
no  one ;  while  through  the  open  weather  some 
person  of  honesty  and  resource  would  be  sent 
thither  from  the  headquarters  ranch  on  Sunk 
Creek  two  or  three  times,  to  stay  no  longer  than 


68  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

Ms  duties  required,  and  to  come  back  with  his 
report  as  soon  as  they  should  be  performed. 
Such  a  man  would  live  here  with  canned  food 
and  the  small  stove,  seldom  having  other  com 
pany  than  his  own,  and,  if  he  had  ears  for  the 
music  of  nature,  the  singing  pines  would  often 
companion  him,  he  could  hear  now  and  again 
some  unseen  bird  crying  as  it  passed  among  them, 
and  always  the  voice  of  Spit-Cat.  This  stream 
foamed  by  the  cabin  to  fall  and  wander  devi 
ously  away  into  the  great,  distant  silence  of  the 
mountains.  Likely  was  eighteen  miles  distant, 
and  to  this  place  the  man  could  ride  in  four 
hours  by  a  recently  discovered  trail,  which  was 
the  shorter  one,  and  followed  the  smaller  tribu 
tary  stream  of  Spit-Kitten ;  and  sometimes  the 
man  did  so  ride  for  his  mail,  or  for  more  canned 
food,  or  for  a  game  of  chance  and  female  com 
pany,  in  the  continuously  jubilant  cow-town  of 
Likely,  Wyoming. 

Upon  a  midday  in  June,  had  you  secretly 
peered  through  any  of  the  windows  in  the  cabin, 
you  could  have  seen  a  seated  man,  tightly  curved 
over  the  table  and  apparently  dying  in  convul 
sions  brought  on  by  poison ;  for  the  signs  of  a 
newly  finished  meal  were  near  him.  There  was 


SPIT-CAT   CREEK  69 

a  coffee-pot,  and  a  dish  of  bacon,  and  three 
quarters  of  a  pie.  But  it  was  merely  Scipio  Le 
Moyne  endeavoring  to  write  a  letter;  and  no  task 
more  excruciating  was  known  to  this  young  man. 

"  Dear  friend,"  he  had  begun,  "  i  got  no  dic- 
tionery,  but  —  " 

At  this  point  a  heavy  blot  had  intervened  as 
he  was  changing  the  personal  pronoun  into  a 
capital  I. 

"  Oh,  gosh !  "  he  sighed,  and  for  a  while  could 
spell  no  more.  He  sat  back,  staring  at  the  paper. 
"  It's  not  to  a  girl,"  he  presently  muttered.  "  I 
guess  I'll  not  start  a  fresh  sheet."  And  while 
the  perspiring  Scipio  laid  his  nose  to  his  pen  and 
dragged  himself  onward  from  word  to  word,  a ' 
bad  old  gentleman  with  a  black  coat  and  a  white 
beard  was  coming  stealthily  up  from  the  valley 
through  the  thick  pines.  He  was  still  some  miles 
away,  and  he  meant  to  look  in  at  one  of  the  win 
dows,  and  regulate  his  conduct  according  to  what 
he  should  then  see.  He  was  by  no  means  sure 
that  Scipio  had  what  he  wanted,  which  was  as 
much  money  as  he  could  get,  or  any  fraction 
thereof;  but  he  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  he 
could  ascertain  this  without  any  extreme  use  of 
deadly  weapons. 


70  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

Scipio  Le  Moyne  was  making  his  first  stay  in 
the  Spit-Cat  cabin,  and  in  his  mind  there  welled 
a  complacency  not  to  be  justified ;  for  when  a 
thick  roll  of  money  is  in  a  man's  trousers,  and 
the  man's  trousers  are  upon  the  man,  and  the 
man  is  writing  a  letter  at  a  table,  you  see  at  once 
how  unsafe  the  money  is  if  the  man's  six-shooter 
is  lying  out  of  reach  on  the  bed  behind  him.  It 
should  be  hanging  at  his  hip,  or  in  the  armhole 
of  his  waistcoat,  or  stuck  elsewhere  handily  about 
his  immediate  person.  And  so  it  would  have 
been  on  any  ordinary  day  of  Scipio's  life ;  but 
alas !  on  this  day  he  was  writing  a  letter,  and  was 
therefore  not  quite  accountable.  There  were 
many  things  that  he  did  not  enjoy  —  cooking,  for 
example,  or  a  bucking  pony,  or  gun  trouble  in  a 
saloon ;  but  these  worries  he  could  usually  meet. 
The  only  crisis  which  invariably  disturbed  him 
(except,  of  course,  having  to  talk  to  Eastern 
ladies  when  they  visited  the  Judge's  ranch)  was 
to  be  face  to  face  with  ink  and  a  pen.  After  his 
midday  meal  this  noon  he  had  reclined  upon  his 
bed,  putting  off  the  hateful  moment.  Thus  re 
cumbent  he  had  unbuckled  his  belt  for  comfort 
and  got  none,  for  the  letter  made  him  restless. 
At  length,  with  a  mind  absent  from  everything 


SPIT-CAT   CREEK  71 

save  the  coming  ink  and  pen,  he  had  gone  to 
them,  forgetting  his  revolver  among  the  rumpled 
blankets. 

Complacency  welled  in  his  mind  because  of 
errands  accomplished.  He  had  been  trusted,  and 
he  had  a  pride  in  it  deeper  than  any  words  he 
was  willing  to  utter,  and  a  gratitude  which  he 
would  express  by  inference  alone.  He  would  do 
everything  that  they  had  given  him  to  do  so  well 
that  it  could  not  be  done  better ;  that  is  how  he 
would  thank  his  friend,  the  Sunk  Creek  foreman, 
for  giving  him  this  chance  to  show  his  abilities 
—  and  his  radical  honesty.  (Scipio  was  not  in 
the  least  honest  on  the  surface.)  He  would  take 
no  man's  word  for  an  inch  of  the  work  that  he 
had  been  sent  to  oversee  on  both  sides  of  the 
mountain ;  he  would  visit  the  various  camps 
when  he  was  not  expected ;  every  cow  to  be 
bought  should  be  bought  on  his  own  inspection 
and  not  on  the  seller's  assurances.  But  these 
trusts  were  little  compared  with  the  heavy  wages 
that  he  was  carrying  to  pay  off  certain  men  when 
certain  work  should  be  finished.  He  had  hoped 
to  be  rid  of  this  at  once,  but  late  snows  and  high 
water  had  delayed  the  work. 

Scipio  Le  Moyne  was  among  the  newcomers 


72  MEMBERS   OF   THE    FAMILY 

at  the  headquarters  ranch  on  Sunk  Creek.  His 
character  had  not  yet  been  tested  by  a  year's 
scrutiny.  He  was  known  to  ride  and  rope  well, 
and  to  cook  indifferently,  and  to  return  from  town 
having  behaved  himself  less  ill  than  the  worst ; 
but  Judge  Henry  had  drawn  back  from  putting 
in  his  hands  a  temptation  so  potent  as  the  wages. 
Much  ready  money  is  a  burning  argument  for  a 
disappearance.  To  these  cautious  sentiments  of 
the  Judge  his  foreman  had  replied  scarcely  more 
than  "  I  have  studied  Scipio  mighty  thorough." 
To  Scipio  himself,  the  friend  for  whose  character 
he  was  thus  pledging  his  good  judgment,  he 
merely  remarked,  "  Stay  with  the  money." 

"  Stay  with  it !  "  exclaimed  Scipio,  nearly  over 
come  by  his  feelings.  He  wanted  to  hug  the 
foreman ;  and  lest  his  eyes  should  betray  some 
thing,  he  narrowed  them  to  a  wicked  slit,  and  put 
on  the  disguise  of  jocularity.  "  If  y'u  say  so,  I'll 
stay  with  it  till  I  come  home  with  it." 

The  usually  sharp-witted  foreman  was  at  a 
loss. 

"  Sure !  "  Scipio  explained.  "  I'll  pay  the  boys 
what  they're  owed,  and  take  'em  into  Likely  and 
win  it  back  off  'em.  Why,  it's  the  kind  of  plan 
y'u  might  think  of  yourself." 


SPIT-CAT   CREEK  73 

"  You're  cert'nly  shameless,"  murmured  the 
foreman. 

"  So  my  enemies  all  say,"  retorted  Scipio. 
Thus  had  he  departed  to  Sunk  Creek. 

And  now,  having  done  well  most  things  he 
was  sent  to  do,  his  heart  was  so  grateful  to  his 
friend  that  he  would  conquer  his  distaste  for  the 
pen,  and  write  a  long  letter  without  a  single  word 
of  thanks  in  it  —  the  thanks  would  merely  be  be 
tween  every  line.  The  truly  heavy  load  of  re 
sponsibility  was  still  with  him,  but  safe  with  him ; 
that  money  would  go  into  the  hands  of  the  men  at 
the  Flat  Iron  outfit  to-morrow,  and  surprise  them. 
Had  he  not  been  adroit?  No  one  suspected  he 
was  the  paymaster.  Visiting  Likely  once  for  his 
mail  and  some  supplies,  he  had  been  obliged  to 
spend  the  night  there.  His  prudence  as  to 
whiskey  and  general  abstemiousness  of  conduct 
that  night  might  point,  he  feared,  to  the  fact  that 
he  carried  money  he  was  "  staying  with."  He 
even  felt  a  certain  observation  to  attend  his  move 
ments.  He  therefore  began  to  speak  deceitfully 
to  the  company  he  sat  among.  Had  anybody 
else,  he  inquired,  been  through  here  from  Sunk 
Creek?  Nobody  else  had,  it  appeared;  and 
Scipio  smoked  for  a  while. 


74  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Well,"  he  remarked  at  length,  with  a  certain 
gloom,  like  one  who  speaks  from  an  offended 
Heart,  "a  man  don't  enjoy  bein'  mistrusted.  Not 
if  there's  never  been  nothing  to  justify  it."  He 
said  no  more,  waiting  for  some  one  to  draw  the 
desired  inference  from  this  utterance. 

After  a  matter  of  some  five  minutes  the  infer 
ence  was  appreciated,  and  he  received  a  counter 
offer,  so  to  speak,  a  trifle  too  obviously  aimed. 
"  Them  hands  at  the  Flat  Iron,"  said  the  offerer, 
"has  most  finished  their  job,  ain't  they? " 

"  I  don't  know  about  them,"  said  Scipio,  keep 
ing  in  the  land  of  inference.  "  I've  finished  mine, 
I  know."  Then,  after  a  proper  pause  and  with 
proper  bitterness,  he  finished  :  "  If  folks  can't  trust 
me  they  can't  hire  me." 

It  was  lightly  handled,  and  it  did  its  work  in 
Likely.  All  Likely  gossiped  next  day  about  how 
Judge  Henry  would  not  let  Scipio  handle  the 
Flat  Iron  money,  and  how  Scipio  let  his  feelings 
be  shown  too  plain  for  self-respect — all  Likely, 
save  one  close  observer.  The  old  gentleman  with 
the  black  coat  and  the  white  beard  thought  that 
it  was  odd  in  Scipio  to  behave  so  carefully  during 
his  night  in  town,  odd  and  interesting  to  drink 
nothing  and  go  to  bed  early  in  the  hotel.  "  That 


SPIT-CAT  CREEK:  7s 

kind  don't,"  he  said  to  himself ;  "  not  usually  when 
they're  mad  at  their  employer  and  goin'  to  quit 
their  job."  The  old  gentleman  did  not  gossip, 
but  grew  thoughtful.  One  morning  he  got  on 
his  old  pink  mare,  and  took  a  quiet  trail  for  Spit- 
Cat.  He  thought  he  knew  the  way,  but  lost  him 
self,  and  luckily  met  a  man  on  the  stage  road  who 
directed  him  up  the  old,  established  trail.  Or 
rather,  it  was  lucky  that  he  lost  himself,  else  he 
would  have  arrived  before  Scipio  had  unbuckled 
his  pistol  and  forgotten  everything  in  the  world 
but  this  letter  he  was  knee-deep  in. 

"Dear  friend  I  got  no  dictionery  but  if  any  of 
my  spelling  raises  your  suspicions  you  can  borrow 
a  dictionery  at  your  end  and  theirby  correct  my 
statements  which  are  otherwise  garranteed  to  be 
strictly  accurite.  Hope  you  are  well  I  am  same. 
Have  a  good  notion  not  to  sine  this  for  you  will 
know  my  tracks  without  more  information.  Well 
buisniss  first  and  I  will  try  run  in  a  little  pleasure 
for  you  if  my  nerve  holds  out  but  that  blot  will  tell 
you  I  am  not  myself  just  now.  You  said  I  was 
shameless  but  you  are  dead  wrong  about  me. 
To  think  of  the  way  you  lied  to  those  poor  boys 
about  the  frogs  has  made  me  blush  in  bed  after 
many  a  day  when  my  own  concience  was  at  piece. 


76  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

I  have  looked  after  the  new  ditches  I  had  to  at 
tend  to  them  a  whole  lot  they  are  all  right  now 
but  they  were  not  the  young  yellowleg  who  calls 
himself  a  civil  engineer  I  guess  becaus  he  looks 
at  a  grade  through  a  machine  on  three  sticks  in 
stead  of  with  his  naked  eye  was  making  trouble. 
He  was  arranging  for  the  water  from  Crow  Can 
yon  to  run  up  hill.  We  got  it  started  the  right 
way  yesterday  but  that  civil  engineer  does  too 
much  fingering  with  his  pencil  to  suit  me  he  has 
a  whole  box  full  of  sums  in  arrithmetic.  The 
fences  are  satisfactory.  I  was  oblidged  to  turn  half 
the  cattle  back  the  man  thought  I  was  one  of 
those  who  do  not  know  a  cow  when  they  see  one 
but  he  has  gone  home  realizing  his  poor  judgment. 
And  now  that  is  all  except  I  am  paying  off  the 
extra  hands  at  the  Flat  Iron  outfit  to-morrow  or 
next  day  sure  and  now  for  pleasure  as  my  hand 
has  got  limbered  up  wonderful  and  no  longer 
oblidged  to  blast  out  every  word  with  giant  powder 
like  I  had  to  all  around  the  start  where  you  see 
those  blots.  I  guess  the  words  are  going  to  get 
to  chasing  each  other  off  this  pen  before  I  am 
through  telling  you  something. 

"  I  have  noticed  a  thing.     Be  the  first  to  tell  a 
joke   on    yourself   it   deadens   the   blow.      Well 


SPIT-CAT   CREEK  77 

Honey  Wiggin  has  found  out  about  this  so  I  am 
going  to  hurry  up  and  get  ahead  of  his  news. 
Likely  is  the  town  here  as  you  know  and  twenty 
hours  is  still  the  record  for  driving  to  it  from  the 
railroad  but  there  is  a  new  trail  from  here  to 
Likely  by  Spit-  Kitten  it  saves  an  hour  so  I  am 
living  an  hour  nearer  the  fashion  than  you  told 
me  I  would  be  when  you  gave  me  this  job.  But 
it  was  by  no  means  to  be  fashionable  that  I  had 
to  go  over  to  Likely  though  it  is  a  good  place  for 
a  man  who  wants  to  and  this  cabin  is  not  fashion 
able  a  little  bit  but  my  flour  gave  out.  The  last 
of  it  was  eat  up  by  Honey  Wiggin  who  stopped 
here  one  night  and  told  me  about  the  trail  by 
Spit-Kitten  witch  he  claimed  was  easy  except  in 
one  place  by  what  they  call  the  Little  Pasture. 
You  come  on  the  fence  on  the  side  hill  up  among 
the  trees  where  they  have  been  cut  down  some 
and  Honey  said  follow  the  fence  a  good  ways 
maybe  three  miles  he  thought  but  not  more  and 
you  would  see  the  place  where  the  trail  took  off 
down  the  hill  through  the  same  kind  of  trees 
pretty  thin  growing  and  pines  mostly  till  you 
would  come  to  the  edge  and  see  the  town  down 
below  about  half  an  hour  more  riding.  Honey 
went  over  the  mountain  to  Plat  Iron  and  I  caught 


78  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

up  my  horse  and  started  for  Likely.  The  trail 
was  all  right  unless  for  a  horse  packed  heavy  and 
I  did  not  hurry  any  for  I  knew  I  had  the  night 
to  put  in  in  town  and  I  was  in  no  haste  to  get 
there  because  I  could  have  no  enjoyment  when  I 
did  on  account  of  the  money.  I  was  invited  a 
lot  when  I  got  there  but  though  I  have  been  go 
ing  to  bed  the  same  day  I  got  up  for  many  weeks 
I  was  taking  no  risk.  But  that  is  not  my  point 
it  is  the  Little  Pasture  I  want  to  speak  of.  It  got 
shady  while  I  was  following  the  fence  which  I 
struck  all  right  but  I  did  not  mind  and  I  was 
studying  up  something  to  tell  any  folks  that 
might  inquire  about  the  money  for  Flat  Iron  for 
I  have  to  practiss  lying  I  am  not  quick  at  it  like 
you.  Well  sir  I  went  along  getting  up  some  re 
marks  and  then  picking  out  them  I  considered  to 
be  the  most  promissing  but  after  a  while  I  says  to 
myself  it  must  be  most  three  miles  I  have  come 
along  this  fence.  But  Honey  Wiggin  is  not 
special  close  about  distances,  and  so  I  went  along 
rejecting  some  of  the  remarks  I  had  picked  out 
and  putting  stronger  ones  in  their  place  and  pretty 
soon  I  knew  I  must  have  come  five  miles  anyway 
for  Japan  can  walk  three  miles  an  hour  and  I  had 
looked  at  my  watch.  I  made  Japan  lope  and  then 


SPIT-CAT   CREEK  79 

I  made  him  gallup  and  then  something  struck  me 
like  a  flash  and  I  got  off  him  and  I  tied  my  hanker- 
chef  to  the  fence  and  me  and  Japan  gallupped  like 
we  was  both  crazy  and  it  was  not  twenty  minnits 
till  we  came  round  to  my  hankerchef  again.  I 
expect  the  pasture  is  three  miles  round  but  can 
not  say  how  many  times  I  circled  her.  I  struck 
out  for  myself  then  and  come  to  another  fence  and 
that  was  the  one  Honey  meant,  only  he  says  now 
he  told  me  to  look  out  and  not  take  the  first  fence. 

"  In  Likely  I  went  to  bed  the  same  day  I  got 
up  and  I  slept  in  my  pants  with  the  money  and 
can  say  I  will  be  glad  when  —  " 

Here  Scipio  Le  Moyne  looked  up  from  his 
letter,  for  the  old  gentleman  stood  in  the  door 
and  wished  him  good  morning.  It  was  not  morn 
ing,  but  let  that  go.  The  old  gentleman  had 
taken  his  observations  through  the  window  be 
hind  Scipio  and  had  been  much  pleased  to  notice 
the  six-shooter  among  the  blankets.  He  had 
observed  everything :  the  pie,  the  letter,  all  things 
inside  the  cabin,  and  also  that  outside  the  cabin 
Scipio's  horse  was  grazing  in  the  little  field,  and 
therefore  not  instantly  serviceable.  His  own 
animal  he  had  tied  to  a  tree  a  little  distance 
within  the  timber. 


8o  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Good  morning,"  he  said. 

Scipio's  entire  inward  arrangements  gave  a 
monstrous  leap,  but  his  outward  start  was  very 
slight.  "Hello,  Uncle  Pasco!"  said  he  cheer 
fully.  "  Are  y'u  lost  ?  "  And  he  sat  in  his  chair 
quite  still. 

Uncle  Pasco  stood  blinking  in  his  usual  way. 
"  No,"  he  returned.  "  Not  lost.  Just  off  trappin'. 
That's  what."  His  voice  was  an  old  man's,  dry 
and  chirping,  and  his  sentences  proceeded  in 
short  hops.  He  had  seen  Scipio's  one-quarter 
inch  of  movement,  and  he  read  that  movement 
with  admirable  insight:  it  had  been  a  quickly 
arrested  and  choked  impulse  to  get  to  those 
blankets.  And  Scipio  had  done  some  reading, 
too.  He  saw  Uncle  Pasco's  eye  measuring  dis 
tances,  and  he  could  discern  no  sign  whatever  of 
pistol  upon  the  old  gentleman.  This  rendered 
him  extremely  cautious,  and  his  thoughts  worked 
at  a  remarkable  speed.  Uncle  Pasco  did  not  have 
to  think  so  quickly,  for  he  had  begun  his  medita 
tions  in  Likely  several  days  ago,  and  they  were 
all  finished  as  far  as  'they  could  be  up  to  the 
present  juncture.  Even  the  most  ripened  strate 
gist  must  leave  some  moves  to  be  determined  by 
the  fluctuations  of  the  battle. 


SPIT-CAT   CREEK  81 

"  Been  off  trappin',"  repeated  Uncle  Pasca 

"  What  luck  ?  "  Scipio  inquired. 

"  Poor.  Poor.  Beaver  gettin'  cleaned  out  of 
this  country.  That's  what" 

"  Better  sit  down  and  eat,"  said  Scipio.  "  Take 
your  coat  off  and  stay  a  while." 

Uncle  Pasco's  glance  rested  on  the  pie  a 
moment,  and  then  upon  Scipio's  ink-covered 
sheets.  u  M —  well,"  he  said  doubtfully,  for 
Scipio's  ease  had  now  put  him  in  doubt,  "  I  got 
to  get  back  to  Likely.  Pie  looks  good.  Pie 
like  mother  made.  That's  what.  M — well, 
you're  busy.  Guess  you  want  to  write  your 
letter." 

Scipio  now  looked  at  his  letter,  and  drew  in 
spiration  from  it,  a  forlorn  hope  of  inspiration. 
"  Why,  you  don't  need  to  start  for  Likely  so 
soon,"  he  remarked  with  a  persuasive  whine. 
"  What  was  the  use  in  stoppin'  at  all  ?  Eat  the 
balance  of  the  pie  and  take  the  new  trail  —  if 
your  packs  are  not  loaded  heavy." 

"  Spit-Kitten  ?  "  said  Uncle  Pasco. 

"  Yep,"  said  Scipio.     "  Saves  an  hour." 

"  Ain't  been  over  it,"  said  Uncle  Pasco. 

"  Can't  miss  it,"  said  Scipio.  "  Your  pack's 
light  ?  " 


8a  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"M — well,"  answered  Uncle  Pasco,  doubtfully, 
"fairly  light." 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Scipio.  "  I'll  tell  y'u  about  the 
trail  while  you're  eatin'  the  pie."  He  made  as  if 
to  rise  and  offer  the  only  chair  in  the  room  to 
Uncle  Pasco.  This  brought  Uncle  Pasco  im 
mediately  to  his  side. 

"  Keep  a-sittin',"  the  old  gentleman  urged. 
"  Keep  a-sittin',  and  draw  me  a  map.  That's 
what.  Map  of  Spit- Kitten." 

"  Here,"  began  Scipio,  wriggling  his  pen  across 
a  blank  sheet,  "  runs  Spit-Cat.  This  here  cross 
is  this  cabin.  Stream's  runnin'  this  way.  Under 
stand  ? " 

"  That's  plain,"  said  Uncle  Pasco. 

"  Here,"  and  Scipio  wriggled  his  pen  at  right 
angles  to  the  first  wriggle,  "comes  Spit- Kitten 
into  the  main  creek  —  right  above  this  cabin. 
See  ?  Well.  Now."  Scipio  began  dotting  lines. 
"You  follow  the  little  creek  up,  so.  Then  you 
cross  over  to  the  left  bank,  so.  And  you  go  right 
up  out  of  a  little  canyon  (you  can't  if  your  packs  is 
heavy  loaded,  for  it's  awful  steep  and  slippery  for 
pretty  near  a  hundred  yards)  and  you  come  out 
on  top  clear  going  —  gosh!  I've  got  to  take  an 
other  sheet  of  paper  —  well,  now  y'u  go  down  easy 


SPIT-CAT   CREEK  83 

a  mile  or  two  and  keep  swinging  to  your  right, 
and  about  here"  —  Scipio  now  sprinkled  some 
points  on  the  paper — "the  trees  begin  gettin' 
scattery  and  you  look  out  for  a  fence  on  your  left. 
You  follow  that  fence  for  —  well,  I'd  not  say 
whether  it's  three  miles  or  four — it's  that  noo 
pasture  the  Seventy-six  outfit  calls  their  Little 
Pasture,  and  before  y'u  come  to  the  corner  where 
there's  a  gate  by  a  gushin'  creek  I  don't  know  the 
name  of,  you'll  notice  the  hill  goin'  down  to  your 
right  all  over  good  grass  and  mighty  few  trees, 
and  if  it's  dark  you'll  see  the  lights  of  the  town 
below  and  the  trail  takes  off  right  about  where 
you'll  be  standing  this  way  "  (Scipio  scratched  an 
arrow),  "  and  don't  y'u  mind  if  it  looks  like  a 
little-worn  trail,  for  that's  the  way  it  is,  and  y'u 
can't  miss  it  on  that  hillside.  See  ?  " 

"  That's  plain  as  day,"  said  Uncle  Pasco,  ac 
cepting  the  two  sheets  of  the  map  and  sliding 
them  into  his  own  pocket.  He  still  stood  beside 
Scipio,  irresolutely,  considering  the  lumpy  ap 
pearance  of  Scipio's  pocket.  A  handkerchief 
with  a  bag  of  tobacco  might  produce  such  a 
bulge. 

"  Fine  day,"  said  Scipio.  "  Better  stay  a 
while." 


84  MEMBERS  OF   THE   FAMILY 

"  Good  weather  right  along  now,"  said  Uncle 
Pasco. 

"  Time  it  was,"  said  Scipio,  "  after  the  wettin' 
the  month  of  May  gave  us.  Boys  doin'  anything 
in  town  lately  ?  " 

"  Oh,  gay,  gay,"  returned  Uncle  Pasco.  And 
he  ran  a  pistol  against  Scipio's  head.  "  Out  with 
it,"  he  commanded.  "  Cough  up." 

It  is  possible,  under  these  circumstances,  to  re 
fuse  to  cough,  and  to  perform  instead  some  rapid 
athletics  which  result  in  a  bullet-hole  in  the  wall 
or  ceiling,  to  be  forever  after  pointed  to.  But  the 
odds  are  so  heavy  that  the  hole  will  be  in  neither 
the  wall  nor  the  ceiling  that  many  people  of  un 
doubted  valor  have  found  coughing  more  dis 
creet.  Scipio  coughed. 

"  Uncle  Pasco,"  said  he  gracefully,  "  I  didn't 
know  you  were  that  artistic." 

Uncle  Pasco  now  marched  to  the  bed,  and  ap 
propriated  Scipio's  pistol.  "  Just  for  the  present," 
he  explained. 

"  Uncle  Pasco,"  resumed  Scipio,  mild  as  a 
dove,  and  never  stirring  from  his  chair, "  you  have 
learned  me  something  to-day.  It's  expensive 
education.  I'll  not  say  it  ain't.  But  I'm  goin'  to 
tell  y'u  where  I  went  wrong.  I'd  ought  to  have 


SPIT-CAT   CREEK  85 

acted  more  careless  in  Likely  that  night.  I'd 
ought  to  have  taken  a  whirl  somewheres.  Bern' 
so  quiet  exposed  my  hand  to  y'u.  But,  see  here,  I 
had  everybody  fooled  but  you." 

"You're  a  kid,"  responded  Uncle  Pasco,  but 
with  indulgence.  "  You  be  good.  Keep  a-sittin' 
right  there.  Pie  like  mother  made."  And  with 
the  pie  in  one  hand  and  his  pistol  in  the  other  he 
made  a  comfortable  lunch. 

"  It  was  my  over-carefulness,  warn't  it  ? "  per 
sisted  Scipio.  "  I  have  sure  paid  y'u  good  to 
know ! " 

"  You're  a  kid,"  Uncle  Pasco,  with  unchanged 
indulgence,  repeated.  "  You'll  do  in  time.  Keep 
studying  seasoned  men.  That's  what."  And  he 
finished  his  meal.  "  You'll  find  your  six-shooter 
in  the  place  where  I'll  put  it." 

The  old  gentleman  opened  the  door,  and,  leav 
ing  Scipio  in  the  chair,  walked  briskly  by  the 
corral  into  the  trees  and  mounted  his  old  pink 
mare.  From  the  door  of  the  cabin  Scipio 
watched  him  amble  away  along  the  banks  of 
Spit-Cat. 

"  Pie  like  mother  made !  "  he  muttered.  "  You 
patch-sewed  bread-basket !  Why,  you  fringy- 
panted  walking  delegate,  I'll  agitate  your  system 


86  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

till  your  back  teeth  are  chewin'  your  own  sweet 
breads  !  "  He  seized  up  a  rope  and  began  walking 
to  where  his  horse  was  pasturing.  "I  could  for 
give  him  takin'  the  money,"  he  continued.  "  He 
outplayed  me.  But  —  "  Scipio  was  silent  for  a 
few  yards,  and  then,  "  Pie  like  mother  made ! "  he 
burst  out  again. 

And  now,  reader,  please  rise  with  me  in  the  air 
and  look  down  like  a  bird  at  the  trail  of  Spit- 
Kitten.  The  afternoon  has  grown  late,  and 
shadow  is  ascending  among  the  thin  pines  by  the 
Little  Pasture.  There  goes  Uncle  Pasco,  am 
bling  easily  along.  He  counts  his  money,  and 
slaps  his  bad  old  leg  with  joy.  With  all  those 
dollars  he  can  render  the  next  several  months 
more  than  comfortable.  Now  he  consults  Scipio's 
map,  and  here,  sure  enough,  he  comes  to  the 
fence,  just  as  Scipio  said  he  would  come ;  that 
fence  he  was  to  follow  for  three  miles,  perhaps,  or 
four.  Uncle  Pasco  slaps  his  leg  again,  and  gives 
a  horrid,  unconscientious  cackle.  And  now  he 
hangs  Scipio's  pistol  on  a  post  of  the  fence  and 
proceeds.  While  pleasing  thoughts  of  San  Fran 
cisco  and  champagne  fill  his  mind  as  he  rides, 
there  comes  Scipio  along  the  trail  after  him  at  a 
nicely  set  interval.  All  is  working  with  the  agree- 


SPIT-CAT   CREEK  87 

able  precision  of  a  clock.  Scipio  recovers  his  pistol, 
and  after  tying  his  horse  out  of  sight  a  little  way 
down  the  hill,  he  runs  back  and  sits  snug  behind 
a  tree  close  to  the  fence,  waiting.  He  looks  at  his 
watch.  "  It  took  Japan  and  me  twenty  minutes 
to  go  around  at  a  gallop,"  he  observes.  "  Uncle 
Pasco  ain't  goin'  half  that  fast."  Scipio  continues 
to  wait  with  his  six-shooter  ready.  In  due  time 
he  pricks  up  his  ears  and  rises  upon  his  feet  be 
hind  the  tree.  Next,  he  steps  forth  with  his  smile 
of  an  angel  —  but  a  fallen  angel. 

"  Pie  like  mother  made,"  he  remarks  musically. 

Why  tell  of  Uncle  Pasco's  cruel  surprise  ?  It 
is  not  known  if  he  had  gone  round  the  fence 
more  than  once ;  but  the  town  of  Likely  saw  the 
dreadful  condition  of  his  clothes  as  he  rode  in 
that  night.  It  was  almost  no  clothes. 

At  that  hour  Scipio  was  finishing  his  letter  to 
the  foreman :  — 

"  —  this  risponsibillity  is  shed,"  had  been  the 
unwritten  fragment  of  his  sentence  when  it  was 
cut  short,  and  he  now  completed  it,  and  went 
on  :  — 

"  Quite  a  little  thing  has  took  place  just  now 
about  that  money.  Don't  jump  for  I  am  staying 
with  it  as  you  said  to  and  I  am  liable  to  be  stay- 


88  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

ing  with  it  as  long  as  necessary  but  an  old  hobo 
held  me  up  and  got  it  off  me  and  kept  it  for  most 
three  hours  when  I  got  it  back  off  the  old  fool. 
I  would  not  have  throwed  him  around  like  I  did 
if  he  had  been  content  to  lift  the  cash  but  he  had 
to  insult  me  too  said  I  was  pie  and  next  time 
he'll  know  a  man  should  be  civil  no  matter  what 
his  employment  is. 

"  I    have    noticed    another    thing.     To   shoot 
strait  always  go  to  bed  the  same  day  you  get  up 
and  to  think  strait  use  same  pollicy. 
"  Your  friend, 

"  SCIPIO  LE  MOYNE. 

"  P.S.     I  am  awful  oblidged  to  you." 


Ill 

IN   THE   BACK 

FORCE,  as  you  may  know,  is  like  the  King,  and 
never  dies.  It  endlessly  transmits  itself  through 
the  same  or  some  other  shape.  Drop  a  stone  in 
a  pond,  and  the  wave-rings  may  seem  to  expire  as 
they  widen,  but  they  do  not ;  through  friction  or 
impact  or  something,  they  merely  become  invisible. 
You  can  stop  a  cannon-ball,  but  you  cannot  kill 
its  speed;  its  speed  is  immortal  and  undergoes 
instant  resurrection,  taking  the  new  shape  of  heat. 
The  cannon-ball  becomes  red  hot  and  sends  heat 
waves  off  into  infinity.  Scientific  men  have  told 
you  all  this  as  they  have  told  me,  and  judging 
from  the  delightful  events  which  I  shall  proceed 
to  narrate,  I  should  not  wonder  if  the  scientific 
men  were  right. 

I.   THE  STORING  OF  THE  ENERGY 

ONCE  upon  a  time  the  army  had  a  wet-nurse 
instead  of  a  secretary  of  war.  The  nurse  fed  our 
soldiers  upon  speeches,  milk-and-sugar  speeches, 
all  over  the  country.  He  told  them  he  was  going 

89 


9o  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

to  right  their  wrongs.  Now,  as  they  didn't  know 
that  they  had  any  wrongs,  this  both  surprised  and 
pleased  them.  They  liked  to  hear  him  inform 
them  that  it  was  they  who  from  the  first  had  won 
our  battles  upon  land  and  sea.  "  Who  "  (he  would 
ask  rhetorically),  "  who  endured  the  bitter  cold, 
the  frozen  snow,  at  Valley  Forge  ? "  And  as 
they  hadn't  the  slightest  idea,  what  more  agreeable 
than  to  learn  it  was  themselves  ?  "  Let  us  honor 
George  Washington  "  (he  would  exclaim),  "  let  us 
not  forget  that  great  and  good  man  !  but  let  us 
remember  also  the  honest  soldier  without  whose 
aid  George  Washington  could  never  have  durriven 
the  Burritish  tyrant  from  our  beloved  shores  of 
furreedom !  " 

He  always  spoke  of  the  "  honest "  soldier,  and 
therefore  the  average  enlisted  man  very  naturally 
felt  that  somehow  George  Washington,  Andrew 
Jackson  and  Ulysses  Grant  were  all  well  enough 
in  their  way,  but  that  you  must  keep  your  eye  on 
them,  and  that  the  Secretary  was  the  man  to  put 
them  in  their  proper  place.  The  Secretary  quite 
rightly  omitted  to  state  that  generals  are  apt  to 
carry  a  responsibility  which  would  iron  the  aver 
age  enlisted  man  flatter  than  a  pair  of  pressed 
trousers;  he  omitted  this  statement  because  it 


IN   THE   BACK  91 

would  have  been  the  whole  truth,  and  the  whole 
truth  is  often  very  tiresome,  particularly  for  a  poli 
tician.  Do  not,  as  you  read  this,  think  evil  of  the 
Secretary ;  he  had  a  large  family  of  daughters  and 
sons  with  whom  he  was  frequently  photographed, 
seated  on  the  vine-clad  porch  of  the  old  white 
homestead,  and  these  photographs  were  at  once 
widely  given  to  the  public  press.  Moreover,  his 
private  life  was  known  to  be  chaste  by  every  lady 
in  the  land,  though  how  they  ascertained  this  I 
am  at  a  loss  to  explain.  He  was  also  a  highly 
gifted  man ;  gifted  with  the  voice  that  matches 
a  political  frock-coat.  At  will  he  could  make 
this  so  impressive,  that  if  he  remarked  it  was  a 
fine .  day,  for  the  time  of  year,  it  convinced  the 
audience  that  something  of  the  utmost  importance 
had  been  announced.  He  was  gifted,  too,  with  a 
face  impervious  to  vulgar  scrutiny,  and  he  had  the 
most  deeply  religious  chinbeard  in  Apple-Jack 
county.  I  have  already  mentioned  that  he  pos 
sessed  the  gift  of  tears,  when  such  phenomenon 
was  timely,  and  besides  all  these  things,  he  owned 
some  extensive  salt-marshes  on  a  bay.  These 
were  too  wet  for  private  persons  to  buy,  but  he 
was  going  to  be  happy  to  sell  them  to  the  govern 
ment  for  a  naval  station  when  he  should  be  Sena- 


92  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

tor,  after  his  present  office  had  expired.  Mean- 
while  he  went  about  busily  with  his  basket, 
collecting  popularity  from  the  humblest  dump 
ing  lot. 

If  there  was  one  kind  of  audience  that  the 
Secretary  liked  above  all  others,  it  was  an  audi 
ence  of  fresh,  bright,  brave,  young  recruits.  He 
missed  no  chance  to  tell  them  so.  Their  earnest 
faces,  he  was  apt  to  say  if  there  was  a  flag  any 
where  in  sight,  stirred  his  heart  more,  much  more 
than  the  stars  upon  Old  Glory  waving  yonder. 
Then  he  would  point  to  Old  Glory,  and  get  re 
sults  from  the  gallery  as  satisfactory  as  any  actor 
could  wish.  Indeed,  the  Secretary  could  have 
made  the  drama  as  lucrative  as  he  made  politics. 
He  could  tell  a  story  and  make  you  laugh,  tell 
another  and  make  you  cry,  and  a  really  excellent 
second-rate  actor  was  lost  in  him.  In  the  good 
old  days  of  which  I  write,  many  of  our  political 
patriots  resembled  the  Secretary. 

Recruits  after  his  own  heart  sat  close  before  him 
one  afternoon  at  McPherson,  gathered  from  vari 
ous  Southern  States. 

"  Let  those  young  men  come  up  front! "  he  had 
commanded  from  the  platform  in  his  deepest  frock- 
coat  basso.  "  Let  them  see  me  and  let  me  see 


IN   THE   BACK  93 

them.  We  understand  each  other,  for  we  are 
comrades." 

Accordingly,  the  recruits  occupied  the  front 
benches,  while  the  mustache  of  Captain  Stone, 
who  sat  in  the  rear  of  the  hall,  began  to  look  like 
the  back  of  a  dog's  neck  when  the  dog  is  not 
pleased.  The  captain  took  down  one  leg  that  had 
been  crossed  over  the  other,  and  began  sliding 
one  hand  up  and  down  the  yellow  stripe  of  his 
trousers.  To  his  brother  officers  and  to  his  favor 
ite  sergeant,  Jones,  this  hand  sliding  was  another 
sign,  like  the  singular  behavior  of  the  mustache. 
Nobody  knew  whether  it  was  the  hair  itself  that 
rose,  or  whether  he  did  it  with  his  upper  lip;  but 
when  the  whole  thing  stood  straight  out  beyond 
his  nose,  everybody  knew  at  a  hundred  yards' 
range  what  it  meant,  no  matter  how  it  was  done. 
It  was  the  hurricane  signal  and  you  steered  your 
course  accordingly. 

"  You  never'll  get  a  better  captain,  Jock,"  Ser 
geant  Jones  would  often  remark  to  Corporal 
Cumnor.  "  But  you  want  to  catch  his  profile  at 
morning  stables.  If  the  muss-tash  is  merely  stand 
ing  attention,  clear  weather's  to  be  looked  for.  But 
if  she's  deployed  in  extended  order  of  skirmish- 
line,  don't  you  go  nowheres  without  your  slicker." 


94  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

On  the  present  occasion  the  sergeant  was  also 
in  the  hall  listening  to  the  Secretary.  To  him 
had  fallen  the  responsibility  of  conducting  some 
of  the  recruits  to  Fort  Chiricahua  in  Arizona,  to 
which  post  they  had  been  assigned.  Captain 
Stone  was  on  leave,  and  had  no  responsibilities 
whatever  until  in  a  few  weeks  he  should  return  to 
that  same  post  after  a  honeymoon  which  he  and 
his  bride  were  completing  by  a  visit  to  the  lady's 
parents.  She  was  a  pastor's  daughter  and  played 
the  melodeon. 

"  We  are  comrades,"  repeated  the  Secretary  of 
War  to  the  recruits,  "  and  that  means  you  and  I 
are  going  to  stand  by  each  other  through  thick 
and  thin."  It  sounded  so  well  that  the  recruits 
all  cheered. 

The  captain's  mustache  lifted  a  couple  of  hairs 
more,  Sergeant  Jones  in  another  part  of  the  hall 
whispered  to  himself  two  words  which  I  cannot 
repeat,  and  the  Secretary  looked  about  to  see  if 
there  was  a  flag  anywhere  convenient  for  his 
popular  climax  about  earnest  faces  and  the  stars 
in  Old  Glory.  But  there  was  no  flag,  and  he 
therefore  selected  another  of  the  many  strings  to 
his  oratorical  bow.  He  gave  them  his  great 
"  What  I  am  for "  speech,  the  speech  which  had 


IN   THE   BACK  95 

brought  the  gallery  down  at  Albany  on  Decora 
tion  Day,  had  caught  the  crowd  at  Terre  Haute 
on    the    Fourth  of   July,  swept    Minneapolis   on 
Labor  Day  and  turned  Dallas,  Texas,  hoarse  on 
Washington's    Birthday.       In    it    the    Secretary 
asked,  "  What  am  I  for  ? "  and  then  answered  the 
question.     He  was  to  watch  over  the  enlisted  man, 
he  was  to  be  his  father  and  protect  him  from  mili 
tary  tyranny.    Superior  officers  were  to  cease  their 
despotic  methods.     Was  this  not  a  republic  where 
one  man   was    as   good  as  another?     The   very 
term   "superior   officer"   was    repugnant  to   the 
American  idea,  and    no   offender   of  any   grade 
should  hide  behind  it  as  long  as  he  was  Secretary 
of  War.     To  hear  him  you  would  have  supposed 
that  until  he  stepped  into  the  Cabinet  the  slave 
under  the  lash  knew  a  better  lot  than  the  Ameri 
can  soldier.     To  be  sure,  he  did  not  always  say 
these   remarkable  things  in  the  same  way.     At 
Boston,  for  instance,  he  would  draw  it  milder  than 
at  Billings,  Montana.     At  Boston  he  mentioned 
other  duties  of  the  Secretary  of  War  besides  that 
of  tucking  the  enlisted    man    in    his  bed  every 
night;  but  he  seldom  spoke  in  Boston,  because 
he  preferred  a  warm,  heart-to-heart  audience. 
He  knew  at  sight  that  he  had  one  here.     His 


96  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

practised  eye  ran  the  recruits  over  and  read  their 
wholesome  vacant  up-country  faces,  noted  their 
big  rosy  wrists,  appraised  their  untrained  juicy 
agricultural  shapelessness  as  they  sat  beneath  him 
like  rows  of  cantaloupes  and  watermelons.  With 
such  innocence  as  this,  he  knew  that  he  could 
spread  it  thick ;  and  very  soon  after  the  prelimi 
nary  details  about  his  always  having  cherished  a 
peculiar  affection  for  this  part  of  the  country,  and 
how  General  Lee  had  had  no  warmer  admirer  than 
himself,  he  was  spreading  it  unmistakably  thick. 
By  the  time  he  had  informed  them  that  it  was 
not  colonels  and  generals  to  whom  he  bowed  the 
knee,  but  the  enlisted  man,  the  so-called  common 
soldier,  whose  bleeding  feet  had  blazed  the  trail 
for  liberty  with  fearless  shouts  of  triumph,  Ser 
geant  Jones  was  muttering  to  his  neighbor,  "  How 
long  more  d'yu  figure  he'll  slobber  ? "  and  the 
captain's  mustache  was  standing  out  from  his  face 
like  a  shelf. 

"  That  is  what  I  am  for ! "  perorated  the  wet- 
nurse.  "  I  am  for  the  enlisted  man.  The  coun 
try  looks  to  our  beloved  Purresident,  but  you  look 
to  me.  Go  forth,  young  men,  for  I  am  behind 
every  one  of  you.  No  so-called  military  regula 
tions  shall  insult  your  American  manhood  or  grind 


IN  THE  BACK  97 

you  down  while  I  stand  sentinel  at  my  post.  If 
you  are  troubled,  come  to  me  and  you  shall  have 
your  rights.  Go  forth  then,  you  who  outshine 
their  vaunted  Caesars,  their  licentious  Alexanders, 
their  pagan  Plutos  and  Aspasias !  Go  forth  to  be 
the  bulwarks  and  imperishable  heroes  of  our  gul- 
lorious  country!" 

The  watermelons  cheered,  the  wet-nurse  stepped 
down  to  let  them  shake  his  hand,  and  Captain 
Stone  went  home  with  his  bride,  in  a  speechless 
rage.  He  was  able  to  speak  presently. 

"  Still,  Joshua,"  she  mildly  insisted,  "  young 
soldiers  have  so  many  sad  temptations,  I  am  glad 
he  has  their  welfare  at  heart." 

"  Nonsense,  Gwendolen,"  said  the  captain. 
"  You'll  soon  know  the  army,  and  you'll  see  then 
that  such  talk  as  his  merely  turns  contented  men 
into  discontented  babies." 

"  Nobody  could  ever  be  discontented  with  you, 
Joshua,  I  am  sure,"  the  bride,  with  sweet  emotion, 
murmured. 

She  was  nineteen,  the  captain  was  forty-five, 
and  upon  gazing  at  the  rosy  cheeks  of  his  Gwen 
dolen  he  would  frequently  assert  that  a  man  was 
always  as  young  as  he  felt. 

The   Secretary,  after   inspecting   the   military 


98  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

post,  dined  with  the  mayor  of  the  neighboring 
town.  At  this  meal,  when  a  cold  bottle  had  been 
finished,  the  mayor  went  so  far  as  to  inquire: 
"  Say,  who  was  Aspasia  ?  " 

But  the  Secretary  answered :  "  What  a  wonder 
ful  land  is  ours  and  what  a  beautiful  city  is 
yours." 

II.   THE  ENERGY  is  TRANSMITTED 

THE  expectations  of  Sergeant  Jones  were  en 
tirely  unfulfilled.  Much  experience  in  taking 
charge  of  recruits  upon  long  railway  journeys  had 
taught  him  that  their  earnest  faces  were  not  always 
more  stirring  than  the  stars  upon  Old  Glory ;  he 
knew  that  you  do  not  invariably  find  that  sort  of 
face  for  thirteen  dollars  a  month.  He  had  gen 
erally  been  obliged  to  watch  their  purchases  at 
way  stations,  he  had  not  seldom  been  forced  to 
remove  bottles  of  strong  spirits  from  their  posses 
sion,  and  he  had  almost  always  found  it  necessary 
to  teach  some  of  them  a  lesson  in  obedience. 
Judge  therefore  of  the  sergeant's  amazement  when, 
after  the  first  half  day  of  journey,  a  long  over 
grown  ruddy  boy  approached  him  and  asked  in 
unsoiled  Southern  accents :  "  Please,  sah,  can  we 
sing?" 


IN   THE   BACK  99 

"  Sing  ?  "  said  Jones.     "  Sing  what  ?  " 

"'Pull  foah  the  shoah,  sailah.'  We  have 
learned  to  do  it  in  parts  back  in  our  home." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jones,  "  I  guess  you  can  sing  that 
—  in  parts  or  as  a  whole." 

"  We  sing  it  as  a  whole  in  parts,  sah,"  explained 
the  recruit  with  simplicity. 

"  Your  name  Anniston  ? "  Jones  inquired, 
abruptly  suspicious. 

"  Bateau,  sah.  Leonidas  Bateau.  My  cousin, 
Xerxes  Anniston,  sits  over  yonder  by  the  watah- 
coolah." 

"  Oh,"  said  Jones. 

"Yes,  sah.  Xerx  he  sings  bass  in  our  choir 
back  in  our  home.  Sistah  Smith  —  " 

"  Who  ?  "  said  the  sergeant. 

"Sistah  Smith,  sah,  the  wife  of  our  ministah, 
Tullius  C.  Smith." 

"  Oh,"  said  the  sergeant. 

"  She  is  leadah  of  our  choir  back  in  our  home. 
She  is  our  best  soprano,  Sistah  Mingory  is  our 
best  alto,  and  Brother  Macon  Lafayette  Young 
gets  two  notes  lowah  than  any  of  our  basses. 
He  keeps  the  choicest  grocery  in  town  and  is 
president  of  our  Y.  M.  C.  A.  You'd  ought  to 
heard  our  quartet  in  the  prayer  from  *  Moses  in 


ioo  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

Egypt,'  arranged  by  Sistah  Mingory  last  Eastah 
Sunday." 

The  thoroughly  good  heart  of  Jones  now 
warmed  to  this  recruit.  (I  cannot  hope  that  you 
will  remember  Jones.  He  was  Specimen  Jones 
long  ago,  before  he  joined  the  Army.  Some  of 
his  doings  are  chronicled  elsewhere.  He  is  an  old 
member  of  the  family.)  "  Made  Moses  hum,  did 
y'u  ?  "  said  he.  "  I'll  bet  the  girls  would  sooner 
have  a  solo  from  you  than  from  Brother  what's- 
his-name  Lafayette." 

"  Sistah  Smith,"  replied  Leonidas,  blushing  like 
the  innocent  watermelon  that  he  was,  "  did  say 
that  she  couldn't  see  how  they  were  going  to  get 
along  without  my  uppah  registah." 

Jones  settled  back  in  his  seat.  "  Sing  away," 
said  he. 

Many  songs  were  sung  through  Alabama  and 
Louisiana  and  Texas ;  virtuous  songs  with  no 
offending  or  even  convivial  word,  and  none  so 
frequently  demanded  by  the  passengers  as  a  solo 
from  Leonidas, 

How  little  do  I  love  this  vale  of  tears, 

through  which  the  chorus  crooned  a  murmuring 
accompaniment.  West  of  San  Antonio,  they 


IN   THE   BACK  101 

played  a  game  of  riddles,  and  when  Cousin 
Xerxes  (who  seemed  the  wit  of  the  party)  asked, 
"  Why  is  Dass's  solo  like  Texas  ?  Because  it's 
all  in  flats,"  and  the  recruits  were  convulsed  with 
merriment  by  this,  Sergeant  Jones,  listening  to 
them  in  his  seat  behind,  muttered  with  compas 
sion  :  "  Their  mothers  could  hear  every  word 
they  say."  And  friendliness  was  established  be 
tween  him  and  the  recruits.  They  confided 
many  things  to  him. 

Yes ;  not  a  drop  of  vice's  poison  flowed  in 
them,  but  at  El  Paso,  while  they  waited,  Leonidas, 
on  saying  to  Jones,  "  What  an  elegant  speech  the 
Secretary  of  War  gave  us  ! "  was  astonished  to 
hear  the  sergeant  burst  into  strong  language. 

"That  hypercrite!"  exclaimed  Jones.  And 
the  shocked  Leonidas  answered  him. 

And  now  began  to  fall  the  first  chill  upon  their 
friendliness.  The  recruits  were  clean  from  vice, 
but  the  Secretary's  poison  was  at  work,  the  sugar 
of  self-pity  he  had  given  them  to  swallow,  the 
false  sentiment  over  themselves,  the  sick  notion 
they  were  objects  of  special  sympathy,  instead  of 
stout  young  lads  beginning  life  with  about  as 
many  helps  and  hindrances  as  other  stout  young 
lads. 


102  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Yes,  he  did  say  so ! "  declared  Leonidas. 
"  Yes,  he  did,  sah.  He  said  he'd  take  care  we 
was  treated  like  gentlemen.  He  said  he  was  be 
hind  us.  And  I  guess  he's  the  man  to  back  up 
his  word." 

"  Well,"  said  Jones,  making  a  final  try,  "  I'll  tell 
y'u."  And  he  laid  a  hand  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder.  "A  man  enlists  to  be  a  soldier  — 
nothin'  else.  Not  to  be  a  gentleman,  but  just  a 
soldier  who  obeys  his  orders  —  and  nothin'  else. 
I  obey  the  captain,  and  he  obeys  the  colonel,  and 
he  obeys  the  commanding  general  of  the  depart 
ment,  and  so  it  goes  clean  to  the  top,  and  we're 
all  soldiers  obeyin'  the  President  of  the  United 
States,  and  if  bein'  a  gentleman  consists  in 
makin'  things  as  pleasant  and  easy  for  others  as 
y'u  can,  why,  the  chap  in  the  army  who  obeys  best 
is  the  best  gentleman.  There's  remedies  for 
injustice  all  right,  but  you  keep  thinkin'  about 
your  duties  and  you'll  not  need  to  think  about 
your  remedies.  Understand  ?  " 

"Yes,  sah,"  said  Leonidas,  without  the  faintest 
sign  of  comprehension.  "  But  the  Secretary  is 
at  the  top  and  it's  right  in  him  to  say  the  top 
should  nevah  forget  to  recognize  the  onaliable 
rights  of  the  bottom.  He  said  he  was  behind  us." 


IN   THE   BACK  103 

"  Oh,  go  sit  down  and  give  us  some  of  your 
upper  register !  "  cried  Jones. 

Thus  did  friendliness  give  place  to  estrange 
ment.  The  watermelons  laid  their  heads  together 
and  assured  Leonidas  that  he  had  acted  in  a 
proper  and  spirited  manner.  In  Sergeant  Jones 
they  confided  no  longer,  for  which  he  was  man 
enough  to  lay  the  blame  where  it  belonged.  He 
handsomely  cursed  the  Secretary  of  War,  but 
what  good  did  that  do  ? 

Arrived  at  Fort  Chiricahua,  the  recruits  fell 
into  safe  hands,  though  not  perhaps  entirely  wise 
ones.  The  post  chaplain  was  an  earnest  preacher 
of  the  same  denomination  as  the  Rev.  Tullius  C. 
Smith,  and  delighted  to  surround  Leonidas  and 
his  band  with  the  same  customs  and  influences 
which  they  had  known  at  home.  They  were  soon 
known  throughout  the  post  as  "The  Shouters." 
This  epithet  came  from  their  choir  singing,  which 
was  no  whit  lessened  by  their  new  and  not 
wholly  religious  environment.  If  Sergeant  Jones 
or  Captain  Stone  had  looked  for  insubordination 
as  a  result  of  the  Secretary's  speech,  it  was  an 
agreeable  disappointment.  The  recruits  were 
punctual,  they  were  clean,  they  were  assiduous  at 
drill,  they  showed  intelligence,  they  were  model, 


104  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

both  as  youths  and  soldiers,  and  nothing  kept 
them  from  a  more  than  common  popularity  in 
their  various  troops  unless  it  was  that  they  were 
a  little  too  model  for  the  taste  of  the  average  en 
listed  man.  The  parade-ground  was  constantly 
melodious  with  their  week-day  practising  for 
Sabbath  exercises.  Sister  Smith  had  sent  them 
much  music  from  home,  and  the  post  learned  to 
admire  "Moses  in  Egypt"  as  arranged  by  Sister 
Mingory  and  interpreted  by  the  upper  register  of 
Leonidas. 

One  person  there  was  whom  the  strains  of 
psalmody,  as  they  floated  from  the  open  windows 
of  the  school-room,  did  not  wholly  please.  Cap 
tain  Stone  disapproved  of  his  Gwendolen's  spend 
ing  so  much  time  alone  with  the  melodeon  and 
Leonidas.  Almost  as  fittingly  might  a  Senator's 
wife  sing  duets  with  her  coachman,  and  all  the 
ladies  of  the  Post  knew  this  —  excepting  Gwen 
dolen  !  But  he  could  not  forbid  her,  at  least  not 
yet.  Was  she  not  his  bride  of  scarce  three 
months?  In  this  new  army  world,  where  he 
had  brought  her  so  far  from  everything  that 
she  had  always  known,  how  could  he  deprive 
her  of  one  great  resource,  he  who  had  cut  her 
off  from  so  many?  Time  would  steadily  teach 


IN  THE  BACK  105 

her  the  conduct  suitable  for  an  officer's  wife, 
and  then  of  her  own  accord  she  would  put  the 
proper  distance  between  herself  and  the  enlisted 
men. 

"  It  is  so  unexpected,  Joshua,"  she  said  once, 
"  such  an  unexpected  joy  to  be  able  to  keep  a 
good  influence  around  those  poor  boys." 

"  What  do  you  call  them  poor  boys  for  ? "  in 
quired  the  captain. 

"  To  come  into  so  many  temptations  so  far  from 
home  ! "  she  exclaimed. 

"  They're  not  going  to  have  you  and  the  chap 
lain  and  the  organ  all  their  lives,  Gwendolen." 

"  Now,  Joshua,  keep  your  mustache  down ! 
The  Secretary  of  War  —  don't  swear  so  dread 
fully,  darling  !  Don't !  "  And  the  bride  stopped 
her  lord's  lips  with  her  hand.  "  I  won't  mention 
him  any  more,"  she  promised.  "  I  must  run  now, 
or  I'll  be  late  for  practising  next  Sunday's  anthem 
with  Leonidas  Bateau." 

Left  on  the  porch  of  his  quarters,  the  captain 
made  the  same  remark  about  next  Sunday's 
anthem  that  he  had  made  about  the  Secretary  of 
War;  but  Gwendolen,  having  departed,  did  not 
hear  him,  and  soon  from  the  open  windows  of  the 
school-house  floated  the  chords  of  the  melodeon 


106  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

with  a  chorus  led  by  Cousin  Xerxes,  and  a  solo 
on  an  upper  register, 

How  little  do  I  love  this  vale  of  teahs. 

Would  Gwendolen  have  been  so  eager  to 
redeem  some  dried-up  middle-aged  sinner?  I 
don't  know.  At  any  rate,  in  her  solicitude  for 
the  spotless  Leonidas,  she  was  abreast  with  the 
advanced  Philanthropy  which  holds  prevention 
better  than  cure.  Of  course,  not  even  to  the 
most  evil-minded  could  scandal  arise  from  any  of 
this.  But  when  you  see  a  wife  of  nineteen  play 
ing  the  organ  for  a  trooper  of  twenty-two,  and  a 
husband  of  forty-five  constantly  remarking  that  a 
man  is  always  as  young  as  he  feels,  why,  then 
you  are  at  no  great  distance  from  comedy,  and 
the  joke  draws  nearer  when  the  wife  is  anxious 
that  the  trooper  should  not  feel  the  want  of  his 
mother,  and  the  trooper  retains  the  limpid  inno 
cence  of  the  watermelon.  The  ladies  of  the  Post 
tried  to  be  indignant  that  an  officer's  wife  should 
so  much  associate  herself  with  enlisted  men,  but 
they  could  only  laugh  —  and  hush  when  the  cap 
tain  came  by,  and  the  men  in  barracks  laughed 
—  and  hushed  when  the  captain  came  by, 
and  the  poor  captain  knew  it  all.  Meanwhile, 
the  melodeon  played  on,  the  watermelons  lifted 


IN   THE   BACK  107 

their  harmless  hymns,  and  in  the  heart  of  Leoni- 
das  the  Secretary's  speech  dwelled  like  honey 
but  like  gall  in  the  heart  of  the  captain.  Had 
Captain  Stone  dreamed  what  sweet  familiarity 
the  hymns  were  breeding,  he  —  but  he  did  not 
dream,  hence  was  his  awakening  all  the  more 
pronounced. 

The  day  it  came  had  made  an  ill  beginning 
with  him.  He  had  walked  unexpectedly  into 
the  kitchen  before  breakfast,  and  found  there 
his  Chinaman  putting  a  finishing  crust  on  the 
breakfast  rolls.  He  had  never  been  aware  of 
such  a  process.  He  had  always  particularly 
enjoyed  the  crust.  The  Chinaman  had  just 
reached  the  point  where  he  withdrew  the  hot 
rolls  from  the  oven  and  sprayed  them  suddenly 
with  cold  water  from  his  mouth.  There  had 
ensued  a  dreadful  time  in  the  kitchen,  and  no 
rolls  for  breakfast  and  no  Chinaman  for  dinner, 
and  even  as  late  as  five  o'clock  the  captain's 
mustache  had  not  completely  flattened  down. 
Leonidas  should  have  observed  this  as  he  came 
up  the  captain's  steps  with  a  message  from  the 
chaplain  for  the  captain's  wife.  They  were 
waiting  for  her  to  come  over  and  play  the  melo- 
deon  for  Sunday's  anthem. 


io8  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Is  Sistah  Stone  here  ?  "  Leonidas  inquired. 

"WHO?"  said  the  captain,  rising  from  his 
chair,  which  fell  backward  with  the  movement. 

"Is  Sistah  Stone  here?"  repeated  Leonidas, 
mildly.  "  The  chaplain  says  —  " 

You  will  meet  the  most  conflicting  accounts 
of  the  spot  where  Leonidas  first  landed  on  firm 
ground  after  leaving  the  captain's  boot.  The 
colonel's  orderly,  who  was  standing  in  front  of 
the  colonel's  gate  four  houses  farther  up  the 
line,  deposed  that  he  "thought  he  heard  a 
something  but  didn't  see  what  made  it."  Mrs. 
Phillips  declared  she  was  sitting  on  her  porch 
two  houses  down  the  line,  and  "it  looked  just 
like  diving  from  a  spring-board."  These  were 
the  only  two  disinterested  witnesses.  The  af 
flicted  Leonidas  claimed  that  he  had  gone  from 
the  porch  clean  over  the  front  gate,  and  Cap 
tain  Stone  said  that  he  didn't  know  and  didn't 
care,  but  that  if  the  gate  story  was  true,  then 
he  had  projected  one  hundred  and  sixty  pounds 
forty  measured  feet  and  felt  younger  than  ever. 

The  version  which  Jones  gave  has  (to  me) 
always  seemed  wholly  satisfactory.  "  Don't  y'u 
go  sittin'  up  nights  over  it,"  said  Jones.  "  No- 
body'll  never  prove  where  he  struck.  But  what 


Is  Sistah  Stone  heah  ?  "  Leonidas  inquired 


IN   THE   BACK  109 

I  seen  was  the  captain  come  ragin'  out  of  his 
gate.  He  went  over  to  the  officers'  club  and 
I  knowed  it  was  particular,  for  y'u  could  have 
stood  a  vase  of  flowers  on  his  muss-tash  with 
out  spillin'  a  drop.  And  next  comes  Leonidas 
a-flyin'  by  me,  a-screechin',  '  The  Secretary  shall 
hear  of  this ! '  And  I  seen  the  mark  on  his  pants 
and  he  tells  me.  *  Hard  brushin'  will  remove  it/ 
I  says  to  him,  and  he  says,  '  The  Secretary  shall 
hear  of  it  i '  And  I  says,  'Well,  Leonidas,  it  sure 
ain't  your  upper  register  that's  damaged/  'The 
Secretary,'  says  he,  but  I  got  tired.  '  If  you  was 
figuring  to  be  the  captain's  brother-in-law/  I  says, 
'  you  should  have,  bruck  it  to  him  gently/  " 

III.   THE  VIBRATIONS  SPREAD 

AND  what  did  the  afflicted  Leonidas  do  now? 
Sunday's  anthem  was  dashed  from  his  mind. 
They  waited  for  him,  but  he  never  came  back, 
nor  was  the  melodeon  again  played  by  Sister 
Stone.  Leonidas,  without  waiting  to  brush  off 
anything,  hastened  to  his  own  troop  commander, 
told  of  the  insult  to  American  manhood  and  dis 
played  the  grievous  traces  upon  his  trousers. 
When  his  captain  found  that  he  was  not  de 
mented,  he  meditated  briefly  and  spoke. 


no  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

"  Bateau,  this  is  unfortunate,  but  it  seems 
to  me  out  of  military  cognizance." 

Leonidas  mentioned  the  Secretary  of  War 
for  the  third  or  fourth  time,  and  asked  permis 
sion  to  complain  to  the  post  commander. 

"  Think  this  over  for  a  day,"  said  his  troop 
commander,  "and  I'll  see  Captain  Stone."  On 
the  next  day  he  resumed,  "  Captain  Stone  con 
firms  every  statement  that  you  make,  except  — 
er  —  the  distance." 

"  It  was  ovah  the  gate,"  repeated  Leonidas. 
"  But  I  would  feel  just  the  same  if  it  was 
not." 

The  troop  commander  was  wise.  "  Very 
well.  You  have  my  permission  to  make  your 
complaint." 

Private  Bateau  stated  his  case  in  the  Adju 
tant's  office  at  Fort  Chiricahua.  The  post 
commander  duly  investigated  the  affair,  and 
private  Bateau  was  duly  informed  that  his  com 
plaint  was  deemed  out  of  military  cognizance. 
Private  Bateau,  thoroughly  booked  on  the  ma 
chinery,  now  appealed  to  the  Department  Com 
mander.  He  called  in  no  clerk  to  draft  his 
grievance  for  him ;  with  Cousin  Xerxes  to  help, 
he  wrote : 


IN   THE   BACK  in 

"FORT  CHIRICAHUA,  A.  T.,  Nov.  30,  188-. 

"THE  ADJUTANT-GENERAL,  Department  of  Arizona, 
Whipple  Barracks,  A.  T.  (Through  Military 
Channels.) 

"  Sir.  —  For  the  information  of  the  commanding 
general  of  the  department,  I  wish  to  report  Cap 
tain  Joshua  Stone  of  E  Troop  4th  Cavalry  for 
using  brutal  conduct  toward  me  at  5  p.m.  26th 
inst.,  at  witch  hour  he  insulted  me  with  his  foot 
behaiving  like  no  officer  and  gentleman  in  a  way 
I  will  not  rite  down.  All  I  did  was  bring  word 
our  choir  was  waiting  for  Mrs.  Stone  to  play  like 
she  always  done  on  the  melodeum  for  church  prac- 
tiss  wensday  afternoons  and  Saturday  nights." 
"  Very  respectfully,  your  obedient  servant, 
"  LEONIDAS  BATEAU  Private,  Troop  I,  4th  Cav'y." 

This  document  Leonidas  handed  to  the  first 
sergeant  of  his  troop,  who  took  it  with  the  daily 
morning  report  to  the  captain,  who  indorsed  it, 
"  Respectfully  forwarded  to  the  Adjutant-General 
Department  of  Arizona  (through  Post  Comman 
der).  The  facts  in  this  case  are  as  follows,"  etc., 
and  duly  signed  the  indorsement,  and  forwarded 
it  the  next  day  to  the  Post  Commander,  who  in 
dorsed  it,  "  Respectfully  forwarded  to  the  Adju- 


ii2  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

tant-General  Department  of  Arizona,  Whipple 
Barracks,  A.  T.  I  find  upon  investigation,"  etc., 
"and  I  have  cautioned  Private  Leonidas  Bateau 
that  he  ought  to  be  more  guarded  in  his  language 
when  referring  to  an  officer's  wife,  and  I  recom 
mend  that  no  further  action  be  taken  in  this 


case." 


Do  you  perceive  the  wheels  beginning  to  go 
round?  The  letter  of  Leonidas,  thus  twice  in 
dorsed  and  signed  by  the  captain  of  his  troop 
and  the  colonel  commanding  Fort  Chiricahua, 
now  flew  forth  and  upward,  directing  its  course 
duly  to  the  headquarters  of  the  Department 
of  Arizona,  and  even  while  it  was  upon  its 
way,  a  new  song  was  heard  among  the  enlisted 
men  on  all  sides  at  the  post.  It  was  fitted  to  the 
tune  of  "  Stables,"  its  author  was  unknown,  and  it 
went  something  like  this : 

SAY,  have  you  seen  my  sister? 

I  GUESS  that  I  must  have  missed  her, 

I'll  SHOW  you  a  handsome  blister,  etc. 

It  went  something  like  that  (sing  it  and  you  will 
see  how  glove-like  it  fits  the  tune),  and  it  contrib 
uted  nothing  to  the  happiness  of  Leonidas ;  but  it 
made  him  glad  that  nobody  save  Cousin  Xerxes 
knew  of  the  long,  long  letter  which  he  had  writ- 


IN   THE   BACK  113 

ten  to  the  Secretary  of  War  and  mailed  outside 
the  post. 

And  now  the  wheels  began  to  turn  at  Whipple 
Barracks  while  Private  Bateau  was  waiting  for 
the  Secretary  of  War  to  answer  his  private  letter, 
and  stand  behind  him.  The  Department  Com 
mander  knew  all  about  the  Secretary  of  War ; 
moreover,  he  was  enlightened  concerning  this  case 
by  his  favorite  staff-officer,  Lieutenant  Jimmy  St. 
Michael,  of  Kings  Port,  South  Carolina.  Jimmy 
received  from  a  brother  lieutenant  at  Fort  Chiri- 
cahua  an  intimate  and  spirited  account  of  the 
whole  deplorable  misadventure,  describing  Gwen 
dolen  at  length,  and  Captain  Stone  at  length,  and 
the  melodeon,  and  the  choir  practices,  not  omit 
ting  a  sketch  of  Leonidas  and  Cousin  Xerxes. 
This  letter  kept  the  young  officers  up  until  past 
midnight,  for  Jimmy  gave  them  a  choir  practice 
upon  his  banjo,  impersonating  now  Sistah  Stone 
and  now  Leonidas.  But,  as  I  have  said,  the 
Commanding  General  of  the  Department  knew 
the  Secretary  of  War  and  therefore  deemed  a 
plentiful  investigation  into  the  affairs  of  Leonidas 
the  wisest  course.  He  would  not  accept  the  views 
of  the  post  commander,  as  was  his  usual  habit ; 
there  must  be  an  inspector.  Now  his  Inspector- 


H4  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

General  was  off  inspecting  something  at  Fort 
Apache  ;  and  so,  that  time  should  not  be  lost,  he 
summoned  Jimmy  St.  Michael  and  directed  him 
to  proceed  to  Fort  Chiricahua.  Jimmy  departed 
with  a  valise,  a  letter  official  to  the  colonel,  a  mes 
sage  unofficial  to  the  same  officer,  and  his  banjo, 
which  he  rarely  left  behind  him.  With  the  so 
lemnity  proper  to  all  inspectors,  he  arrived  upon 
the  scene  of  the  tragedy,  and  not  even  the  joy  of 
the  club  could  unbend  him.  He  was  implored 
to  give  at  least  "  But  he  didn't  saw  the  wood," 
that  song  which  had  left  a  trail  of  gayety  from 
Klamath  and  Bidwell  to  Meade  and  San  Carlos. 
Jimmy  remained  deaf  to  everything  but  duty. 
His  slim  figure  became  every  inch  an  inspector, 
his  neat  hair  was  severe,  his  black  eyes  almost 
funereal.  He  made  many  inquiries,  he  investi 
gated  everybody,  and  he  seldom  uttered  any  longer 
comment  than  "  H'm,  h'm  !  "  He  knew  how  rare 
it  is  for  an  inspector  to  say  more  than  this. 

His  old  friends  would  have  thought  him  engaged 
to  be  married  or  otherwise  grievously  changed  for 
the  worse,  had  he  not,  on  the  night  his  mission 
was  ended,  taken  the  cover  off  his  banjo.  He 
gave  the  second  entirely  original  poem  which  the 
misfortunes  of  Leonidas  had  inspired.  He  sang 


IN   THE   BACK  115 

it  to  a  tune  heard  in  a  popular  play,  and  here 
it  is: 

Of  War  I  am  the  popular  Secretaree  —  O. 

I  am  the  popularest  man  in  all  the  show. 

There  were  one  or  two  or  three 

More  popular  than  me 

Till  I  received  my  portofolee  —  O. 

George  Washington,  they  say,  was  popular  long  ago. 

His  name  to-day  is  sometimes  mentioned  still,  I  know. 

But  where  d'you  think  he'll  be 

If  he's  compared  with  me, 

When  I  resign  my  portofolee — O? 

The  very  day  that  I  into  the  White  House  go 

My  friends  shall  see  my  gratitude  is  never  slow ; 

And  chief  of  all  their  clan 

Shall  be  the  enlisted  man, 

For  he  shall  have  my  portofolee  —  O  ! 

Even  Joshua  smiled,  and  Joshua  was  a  solemn 
man,  not  to  speak  of  his  delicate  position  regard 
ing  Leonidas.  He  sat  up  late,  drank  to  the  health 
of  Jimmy  St.  Michael,  and  remarked  that  he 
doubted  if  Jimmy  felt  any  younger  than  he  did. 

But  the  hour  for  poor  Leonidas  to  smile  had 
not  yet  come.  There  was  silence  most  unaccount 
able  from  the  Secretary  of  War,  and  the  encour 
agement  given  by  having  an  inspector  come  sev 
eral  hundred  miles  received  presently  a  rude 
shock. 


u6  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

Jimmy  St.  Michael  returned  to  Whipple  Bar 
racks  and  made  a  carefully  solemn  report  to  the 
Commanding  General ;  but  at  the  end  of  it,  seeing 
that  the  Commanding  General's  solemnity  was  less 
careful,  he  ceased  to  be  an  inspector,  and  said 
with  his  engaging  Kings  Port  accent: 

"  General,  did  you  ever  put  sugar  on  a  raw  oys 
ter  and  try  to  swallow  it  ?  " 

"  It  can't  be  done ! "  declared  the  General. 
"  I've  known  that  since  I  was  at  the  Military 
Academy." 

"  It  can  be  done,  sir,  if  you  will  pardon  my  con 
tradicting  you.  I  did  it  myself  on  a  bet  at  the 
Military  Academy." 

"Good  Lord!"  said  the  General.  "What 
was  it  like  ?  " 

"  I  realized,  sir,  that  the  combination  does  not 
belong  in  Nature's  plan,  any  more  than  mixing 
politics  with  the  United  States  Army." 

"  Ha,  ha !  "  went  the  General.  "  Ha,  ha !  Not 
in  Nature's  plan  !  "  And  he  proceeded  to  drop 
the  necessary  lemon-juice  upon  the  Secretary's 
luckless  raw  oyster. 

To  poor  Leonidas's  original  letter  was  now 
added  a  third  duly  dated  indorsement :  "  Respect 
fully  returned  to  the  commanding  officer,  Fort 


IN  THE   BACK  117 

Chiricahua,  A.  T.  The  Commanding  General 
approves  of  your  action  in  this  case.  The  pro 
voking  speech  of  Priv't  Leonidas  Bateau,  Troop  I, 
4th  Cav'y,  on  the  occasion  of  his  visiting  the  quar 
ters  of  his  troop  commander  being  considered  suf 
ficient  grounds  for  the  harsh  treatment  adminis 
tered."  This,  with  the  signature  of  the  Assistant 
Adjutant-General,  arrived  at  Fort  Chiricahua,  and 
was  followed  by  a  fourth  indorsement  dated  there 
and  signed  by  the  Post  Adjutant :  "  Respectfully 
returned  to  the  commanding  officer,  Troop  I,  4th 
Cav'y,  inviting  attention  to  the  2d  and  3d  indorse 
ments  hereon,  the  contents  of  which  will  be  com 
municated  to  Pvt.  Leonidas  Bateau,  Troop  I,  4th 
Cav.  By  order  of,"  etc. 

The  wheels  of  redress  had  turned,  all  the  wheels, 
and  ground  out  nothing.  His  troop  commander 
sent  for  Leonidas  and  read  him  the  indorsements. 
Leonidas,  being  instructed  by  a  "guard-house 
lawyer,"  demanded  his  papers,  which  were  deliv 
ered  to  him,  as  was  his  right.  These  now  went 
with  his  appeal  to  Washington.  For  Leonidas 
had  written  home  to  Sistah  Smith,  who  had  writ 
ten  to  a  Congressman,  who  had  replied  that  he 
was  ever  for  justice.  Thus,  with  a  long  new  let 
ter  from  Leonidas  to  the  Secretary  of  War  (whose 


nS  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

silence  still  remained  unaccountable),  did  official 
tidings  of  the  outrage  to  American  manhood  at 
length,  through  the  Adjutant  General's  Depart 
ment,  come  to  the  man  of  the  "portofolee —  O." 

Buttons  were  pressed  and  clerks  despatched 
with  messages;  and  there  ensued  a  conference 
between  the  Congressman,  the  Adjutant-General, 
the  Secretary  of  War,  and  the  Lieutenant-General 
himself.  The  Congressman  stated  the  case  ;  the 
Secretary  was  quite  uneasy,  and  talked  a  great 
deal,  taking  care  not  to  express  a  single  idea;  but 
the  Lieutenant-General  was  quite  easy  and  talked 
only  thus  much : 

"Called  her  his  sister?  Got  kicked  ?  I  should 
think  so  !  " 

"  General,  this  is  good  in  you  to  help  us,"  said 
the  Secretary,  with  symptoms  of  relief.  "  I  did  not 
wish  to  reach  this  conclusion  without  your  cor- 
roboration." 

Thus  ended  the  conference.  The  original  let 
ter  of  Leonidas  with  its  four  indorsements  pasted 
on  it,  and  making  quite  a  budget,  now  started  its 
return  course  bearing  a  fifth  indorsement  contain 
ing  the  Secretary  of  War's  opinion  signed  by  one 
of  the  Assistant  Adjutants-General.  It  travelled 
through  the  back  channels  that  you  know,  passing 


IN   THE   BACK  119 

Whipple  Barracks  and  reaching  the  hungry,  un- 
sated  Leonidas  many  weeks  after  all  traces  had 
vanished  from  his  trousers.  During  these  weeks 
his  life  had  been  made  a  sorry  thing  by  that  song 
about  the  blister.  Not  even  the  sympathy  of 
Cousin  Xerxes  could  sweeten  his  embittered  days. 
They  were  wholesome  for  him,  to  be  sure ;  they 
began  to  cure  him  of  being  a  watermelon ;  they 
even  gave  him  gradually  a  just  estimate  of  the  Sec 
retary's  speech  at  McPherson,  and  he  grew  into 
a  strapping  young  trooper  with  many  of  the  troop 
er's  habits  in  moderation.  The  only  profane  lan 
guage  that  he  used  was  in  connection  with  the 
Secretary  of  War,  whose  tricky  official  language 
in  his  indorsement  had  utterly  dodged  his  prom 
ise  to  stand  behind  him.  But  Leonidas  could  not 
comfortably  live  in  a  place  where  everybody  re 
membered  how  he  had  (as  Jones  put  it)  "run 
around  showing  his  pants."  He  took  his  dis 
charge  at  the  first  opportunity,  and  became  an  em 
inent  cow-boy  in  the  neighborhood,  with  a  man's 
full  strength  in  his  sinews,  and  a  man's  anger  si 
lent  in  his  heart.  The  hour  for  him  to  smile  had 
not  yet  come. 


120  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

IV.    THE  ENERGY  is  ONCE  AGAIN  TRANSMITTED 

You  will  doubtless  have  perceived  the  flaw  in 
the  Secretary's  conduct  before  I  can  point  it  out 
to  you.  He  should  have  written  a  letter  to  poor 
Leonidas  with  his  own  hand.  It  might  not  have 
been  the  easiest  kind  of  letter  for  you  or  for  me 
to  compose;  but  for  a  statesman  of  the  Secre 
tary's  ripeness  it  ought  to  have  been  the  affair  of 
five  minutes.  A  few  words  of  deep  sympathy, 
a  few  words  of  hot  indignation,  a  few  words  of 
sincere  regret  that  he  had  not  yet  had  time  to 
remove  all  the  obstructions  which  a  despotic  tra 
dition  set  between  him  and  the  enlisted  man  — 
and,  best  of  all,  a  few  words  of  promise  to  see 
Leonidas  on  his  coming  tour  through  the  South 
west  —  such  a  letter  as  this  would  have  made 
Leonidas  proud  and  happy,  and  comforted  for 
ever  the  tingling  sensations  that  pierced  him 
whenever  he  thought  of  his  final  choir  practice. 
But  as  Leonidas  seemed  no  longer  of  any  pos 
sible  use  to  the  Secretary,  the  Secretary  forgot 
all  about  him ! 

It  was  not  understood  at  the  ranch  where 
Leonidas  was  now  employed,  why  he  so  eagerly 
followed  the  printed  chronicle  of  the  Secretary's 


IN  THE   BACK  121 

approach.  Indeed,  had  you  asked  him  to  explain 
it  himself,  I  doubt  if  he  could  have  done  so :  the 
needle  seeks  the  pole  —  but  why?  He  would 
pore  over  the  Tucson  paper  and  learn  how  the 
Secretary  had  visited  San  Antonio  and  spoken 
to  the  soldiers  there;  how  he  had  paused  at 
El  Paso,  and  spoken  to  the  soldiers  there ;  how 
he  had  visited  Bayard,  Bowie,  and  Grant,  and 
spoken  at  all  three ;  and  how  he  was  expected 
on  the  train  from  Benson  on  the  very  next  day, 
and  would  get  off  at  Chiricahua  station  and  drive 
to  the  post;  how  he  would  return  thence  and 
proceed  to  Lowell  Barracks  on  his  way  to  Yuma 
and  Los  Angeles. 

All  this  programme  was  of  natural  interest  to 
the  officers  and  men  at  Fort  Chiricahua,  but  it 
seemed  of  unnatural  interest  to  Leonidas.  Con 
cerning  his  absorption  the  other  cow-boys  passed 
comments  among  themselves,  but  made  none  to 
him,  because  he  had  altogether  ceased  to  be  a 
watermelon. 

The  smoke  of  a  train  in  that  country  is  to  be 
sighted  from  a  great  distance  and  for  some  time 
before  you  can  see  the  train,  because  the  smoke 
is  very  black  and  the  train  goes  very  slowly. 
Also,  the  dust  of  a  horseman  or  a  vehicle  can 


122  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

be  descried  from  afar.  As  the  smoke  of  the 
Secretary's  train  approached  the  Chiricahua  sta 
tion,  the  dust  of  a  seemly  military  escort  drew 
near  from  the  direction  of  the  post,  and  the  dust 
of  a  galloping  cow-boy  came  along  the  road  from 
the  ranch  where  Leonidas  was  employed.  By 
the  platform  of  the  station  was  assembled  a  little 
group  of  citizens  hoping  for  a  speech ;  and  by 
the  time  the  train  made  its  deliberate  arrival 
complete,  the  escort  was  arrayed  with  due  mili 
tary  precision,  the  ambulance  was  at  hand  near  by, 
for  the  Secretary  to  step  into  when  he  should  feel 
ready,  and  a  captain  with  two  lieutenants  was 
preparing  to  salute  the  eminent  statesman  as  he 
alighted  from  the  car.  He  returned  their  greet 
ing,  and  as  he  stepped  forward  to  the  end  of  the 
platform  from  which  elevation  he  desired  to  say 
a  few  cordial  and  timely  words  to  those  waiting 
in  the  surrounding  dust,  the  cow-boy  entered  the 
ticket  office,  but  came  out  again  on  the  platform, 
which  was  natural,  since  the  ticket  window  was 
at  the  moment  closed.  The  sight  of  the  Secre 
tary  produced  an  immediate  effect  upon  the  ap 
pearance  of  the  cow-boy.  He  seemed  to  grow 
larger. 

"  Friends  and  soldiers,"  said  the  Secretary,  "  I 


IN   THE   BACK  123 

am  always  moved  when  I  see  an  enlisted  man — " 
and  even  with  the  words,  he  was  moved  conspic 
uously  through  the  air  and  came  down  in  the 
dust  in  a  seated  position.  The  leg  of  Leonidas 
had  grown  exceedingly  muscular.  Before  any 
body  had  regained  his  senses,  the  cow-boy  was 
seen  to  dash  away  shouting  on  his  horse  across 
the  railroad  track,  and  pursuit  did  not  overtake 
him.  I  am  not  sure  if  this  was  the  fault  of  Cap 
tain  Stone  or  Sergeant  Jones,  both  of  whom  were 
in  the  chase. 

It  gravely  damaged  the  Secretary's  visit  for 
him,  but  rendered  it  for  many  others  a  memo 
rable  success,  especially  for  Captain  Stone  and 
Sergeant  Jones.  And  Jones  made  so  bold  as  to 
remark  to  Stone :  "  I  think,  if  the  captain  pleases, 
that  the  Secretary  won't  never  stand  behind  Leon 
idas  like  Leonidas  has  stood  behind  him." 

"  It  is  a  great  thing  for  a  man  to  feel  young," 
replied  Captain  Stone.  His  mustache  was  flat, 
smiling  and  serene. 

Nobody  knows  whether  or  not  the  Secretary 
considered  this  mixing  of  politics  and  the  army 
to  be  in  Nature's  plan. 


IV 


TIMBERLINE 

IT  was  a  yellow  poster,  still  wet  with  the 
rain.  Against  the  wet,  dark  boards  of  the  shed 
on  which  it  was  pasted,  its  color  glared  like  a 
patch  of  flame. 

A  monstrous  thunderstorm  had  left  all  space 
dumb  and  bruised,  as  it  were,  with  the  heavy 
blows  of  its  noise.  Outside  the  station  in  the 
washed,  fresh  air  I  sat  waiting,  staring  idly  at  the 
poster.  The  damp  seemed  to  make  the  yellow 
paper  yellower,  the  black  letters  blacker.  A 
dollar-sign,  figures  and  zeros,  exclamation  points, 
and  the  two  blackest  words  of  all,  reward  and 
murder,  were  what  stood  out  of  the  yellow.  Re 
ward  and  Murder  had  been  printed  big  and  could 
be  seen  far.  Two  feet  away,  on  the  same  shed, 
was  another  poster,  white,  concerning  some  stal 
lion,  his  place  of  residence,  and  the  fee  for  his 
service.  This  also  I  had  read,  with  equal  inat 
tention  and  idleness,  but  my  eyes  had  been  drawn 
to  the  yellow  spot  and  held  by  it. 

Not  by  its  news ;  the  news  was  now  old,  since 
124 


TIMBERLINE  125 

at  every  cabin  and  station  dotted  along  our  lonely 
road  the  same  poster  had  appeared.  They  had 
discussed  it,  and  whether  he  would  be  caught, 
and  how  much  money  he  had  got  from  his  vic 
tim.  At  Lost  Soldier  they  knew  he  had  got  ten 
thousand  dollars,  at  Bull  Spring  they  knew  he 
had  got  twenty,  at  Crook's  Gap  it  was  more  like 
twenty-five,  while  at  Sweetwater  Bridge  he  had 
got  nothing  at  all.  What  they  did  agree  about 
was  that  he  would  not  be  caught.  Too  much 
start.  Body  hadn't  been  found  on  Owl  Creek  for 
a  good  many  weeks.  Funny  his  friend  hadn't 
turned  up.  If  they'd  killed  him,  why  wasn't  his 
body  on  Owl  Creek,  too?  If  he'd  got  away,  why 
didn't  he  turn  up?  Such  comments,  with  many 
more,  were  they  making  at  Lost  Soldier,  Bull 
Spring,  Crook's  Gap,  and  Sweetwater  Bridge,  and 
it  was  not  the  news  on  the  poster  that  drew  my 
eye,  but  its  mere  yellow  vibrations.  These,  in 
some  way,  caught  my  brain  in  a  net  and  held  it 
still,  so  that  thinking  stopped,  and  I  was  under  a 
spell,  torpid  as  any  plant  or  sponge  —  passive, 
perhaps,  is  the  truer  word  for  my  state. 

When  I  was  abruptly  wakened  from  this  open- 
eyed  sleep,  I  knew  that  I  had  been  hearing  a 
song  for  some  time:  — 


126  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

If  that  I  was  where  I  would  be, 
Then  should  I  be  where  I  am  not ; 

Here  am  I  where  I  must  be, 
And  where  I  would  be  I  cannot. 

It  was  the  neigh  of  some  horse  in  the  stable, 
loud  and  sudden,  that  had  burst  the  shell  of  my 
trance,  causing  thought  to  start  to  life  again,  as  if 
with  a  leap ;  there  I  sat  in  the  wagon,  waiting  for 
Scipio  Le  Moyne  to  come  out  of  the  house;  there 
in  my  nostrils  was  the  smell  of  the  wet  sage-brush 
and  of  the  wet  straw  and  manure,  and  there, 
against  the  gray  sky,  was  an  after-image  of  the 
yellow  poster,  square,  huge,  and  blue.  The 
smaller  print  was  not  reproduced,  but  Reward 
and  Murder  stood  out  clear,  floating  in  the  air.  It 
moved  with  my  eyes  as  I  turned  them  to  get  rid  of 
the  annoying  vision,  and  it  at  last  slowly  dissolved 
away  over  the  head  of  the  figure  sitting  on  the 
corral  with  its  back  to  me,  the  stock-tender  of 
this  stage  station.  It  wore  out  as  I  listened  to 
his  song,  and  looked  at  him.  He  sang  his  song 
again,  and  I  found  that  I  now  knew  it  by  heart. 

If  that  I  was  where  I  would  be, 
Then  should  I  be  where  I  am  not ; 

Here  am  I  where  I  must  be, 
And  where  I  would  be  I  cannot. 


I Ill 

m 


"If  that  was  where  I  would  be,  then  should  I  be  where  I  am 


not 


TIMBERLINE  127 

In  the  mountains,  beyond  the  sage-brush,  the 
thunderstorm  was  still  splitting  the  dark  canons 
open  with  fierce  strokes  of  light;  the  light 
seemed  close,  but  it  was  a  long  time  before 
its  crashes  and  echoes  came  to  us  through  the 
wet  air.  I  could  not  see  the  figure's  face,  or 
that  he  moved.  One  boot  was  twisted  between 
the  bars  of  the  corral  to  hold  him  steady,  its  trod 
den  heel  was  worn  to  a  slant ;  from  one  seat- 
pocket  a  soiled  rag  protruded,  and  through  a  hole 
below  this  a  piece  of  his  red  shirt  or  drawers 
stuck  out.  A  coat  much  too  large  for  him  hung 
from  his  neck  rather  than  from  his  shoulders,  and 
the  -damp,  limp  hat  that  he  wore,  with  its  spotted, 
unraveled  hatband,  somehow  completed  the  sug 
gestion  that  he  was  not  alive  at  all,  but  had  been 
tied  together  and  stuffed  and  set  out  in  joke. 
Certainly  there  were  no  birds  here,  or  crops 
to  frighten  birds  from;  empty  bottles  were 
the  only  thing  that  man  had  sown  the  desert 
with  at  Rongis.1  These  lay  everywhere.  As 
the  figure  sat  and  repeated  its  song  be 
neath  the  still  wrecked  and  stricken  sky,  its 
back  and  its  hat  and  its  voice  gave  an  impres- 

1  For  reasons,  those  who  in  188 —  named  this  place  after  its  chief  in 
habitant,  wished  to  disguise  his  name.  This  they  accomplished  by  chang 
ing  the  order  of  the  letters  which  spelled  it. 


128  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

sion  of  loneliness,  poignant  and  helpless.  A 
windmill  turned  and  turned  and  creaked  near 
the  corral,  adding  its  note  of  forlornness  to  the 
song. 

A  man  put  his  head  out  of  the  house.  "  Stop 
it,"  he  said,  and  shut  the  door  again. 

The  figure  obediently  climbed  down  and  went 
over  to  the  windmill,  took  hold  of  the  rope  hang 
ing  from  its  rudder,  and  turned  the  contrivance 
slowly  out  of  the  wind,  until  the  wheel  ceased 
revolving.  I  saw  then  that  he  was  a  boy. 

The  man  put  his  head  out  of  the  house,  this 
second  time  speaking  louder :  "  I  didn't  say  stop 
tha^  I  said  stop  it ;  stop  your  damned  singing." 
He  withdrew  his  head  immediately. 

The  boy  —  the  mild,  new  yellow  hair  on  his 
face  was  the  unshaven  growth  of  adolescence  — 
stood  a  long  while  looking  at  the  door  in  silence, 
with  eyes  and  mouth  expressing  futile  injury. 
Finally  he  thrust  his  hands  into  bunchy  pockets, 
and  said :  — 

"  I  ain't  no  two-bit  man." 

He  watched  the  door,  as  if  daring  it  to  deny 
this ;  then,  as  nothing  happened,  he  slowly  drew 
his  hands  from  the  bunchy  pockets,  climbed  the 
corral  at  the  spot  nearest  him,  twisted  the  boot 


TIMBERLINE  129 

between  the  bars,  and  sat  as  before,  only  without 
singing. 

The  cloud  and  the  thunder  were  farther  away, 
but  around  us  still,  from  unseen  places,  roofs  and 
corners,  dropped  the  leavings  of  the  downpour. 
We  faced  each  other,  saying  nothing;  we  had 
nothing  to  say.  In  the  East  we  would  have 
talked,  but  here  in  the  Rocky  Mountains  an  ad 
mirable  habit  of  silence  was  generally  observed 
under  such  conditions. 

Thus  we  sat  waiting,  I  for  Scipio  to  come  out 
of  the  house  with  the  information  he  had  gone 
in  for,  while  the  boy  waited  for  nothing.  Wait 
ing  for  nothing  was  stamped  plain  upon  him 
from  head  to  foot,  as  it  is  stamped  upon  certain 
figures  all  the  world  over  —  figures  seated  in 
clubs,  standing  at  corners,  leaning  against  rail 
road  stations  and  boxes  of  freight,  staring  out  of 
windows.  Those  in  the  clubs  die  at  last,  and  it 
is  mentioned ;  the  others  of  course  die,  too,  only 
it  is  not  mentioned.  This  boy's  eyebrows  were 
insufficient,  and  his  front  was  as  ragged  as  his 
back. 

Presently  the  same  man  put  his  head  out  of  the 
door.  "  You  after  sheep  ? " 

I  nodded. 


130  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  I  could  a-showed  you  sheep.  Rams.  Horns 
as  big  as  your  thigh  —  bigger'n  your  thigh. 
That  was  before  tenderfeet  came  in  and  spoiled 
this  country.  Counted  seven  thousand  on  that 
there  butte  one  morning  before  breakfast.  Seven 
thousand  and  twenty-three,  if  you  want  exact 
figgers.  Set  on  this  porch  and  killed  sheep 
whenever  I  wanted  to.  Some  of  'em  used  to 
come  on  the  roof.  Counted  eight  rams  on  the 
roof  one  morning  before  breakfast.  Quit  your 
staring !  "  This  was  addressed  to  the  boy  on  the 
corral.  "  Why,  you're  not  a-going  without  an 
other  ?  "  This  convivial  question  was  to  Scipio, 
who  now  came  out  of  the  house  and  across  to  me 
with  news  of  failure. 

"  I  could  a-showed  you  sheep  —  "  resumed  the 
man,  but  I  was  attending  to  Scipio. 

"  He  don't  know  anything,"  said  Scipio,  "  nor 
any  of  'em  in  there.  But  we  haven't  got  this 
country  rounded  up  yet.  He's  just  come  out  of  a 
week  of  snake  fits,  and,  by  the  way  it  looks,  he'll 
enter  on  another  about  to-morrow  morning. 
But  whiskey  can't  stop  him  lying." 

"  Bad  weather,"  said  the  man,  watching  us 
make  ready  to  continue  our  long  drive.  "  Lots 
o'  lightning  loose  in  the  air  right  now.  Kind  o' 


TIMBERLINE  131 

weather  you're  liable  to  see  fire  on  the  horns  of 
the  stock  some  night" 

This  sounded  like  such  a  promising  invention 
that  I  encouraged  him.  "  We  have  nothing  like 
that  in  the  East." 

"  H'm.  Guess  you've  not.  Guess  you  never 
seen  sixteen  thousand  steers  with  a  light  at  the 
end  of  every  horn  in  the  herd." 

"  Are  they  going  to  catch  that  man  ?  "  inquired 
Scipio,  pointing  to  the  yellow  poster. 

"  Catch  him  ?  Them  ?  No !  But  I  could  tell 
'em  where  he's  went.  He's  went  to  Idaho." 

"  Thought  the  '76  outfit  had  sold  Auctioneer," 
Scipio  continued  conversationally. 

"That  stallion?  No!  But  I  could  tell  'em 
they'd  ought  to."  This  was  his  good-by  to  us ; 
he  removed  himself  and  his  alcoholic  omniscience 
into  the  house. 

"  Wait,"  I  said  to  Scipio,  as  he  got  in  and  took 
the  reins  from  me.  "  I'm  going  to  deal  some 
magic  to  you.  Look  at  that  poster.  No,  not 
the  stallion,  the  yellow  one.  Keep  looking  at  it 
hard."  While  he  obeyed  me  I  made  solemn 
passes  with  my  hands  over  his  head.  I  kept  it 
up,  and  the  boy  sat  on  the  corral  bars,  watching 
stupidly.  "  Now  look  anywhere  you  please." 


132  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

Scipio  looked  across  the  corral  at  the  gray  sky. 
A  slight  stiffening  of  his  figure  ensued,  and  he 
knit  his  brows.  Then  he  rubbed  a  hand  over  his 
eyes  and  looked  again. 

"  You  after  sheep?  "  It  was  the  boy  sitting  on 
the  corral.  We  paid  him  no  attention. 

"  It's  about  gone,"  said  Scipio,  rubbing  his 
eyes  again.  "  Did  you  do  that  to  me  ?  Of 
course  y'u  didn't !  What  did  ?  " 

I  adopted  the  manner  of  the  professor  who 
lectured  on  light  to  me  when  I  was  nineteen. 
"The  eye  being  normal  in  structure  and  focus, 
the  color  of  an  after-image  of  the  negative  variety 
is  complementary  to  that  of  the  object  causing  it. 
If,  for  instance,  a  yellow  disk  (or  lozenge  in  this 
case)  be  attentively  observed,  the  yellow-perceiv 
ing  elements  of  the  retina  become  fatigued. 
Hence,  when  the  mixed  rays  which  constitute 
white  light  fall  upon  that  portion  of  the  retina 
which  has  thus  been  fatigued,  the  rays  which 
produce  the  sensation  of  yellow  will  cause  less 
effect  than  the  other  rays  for  which  the  eye  has 
not  been  fatigued.  Therefore,  white  light  to  an 
eye  fatigued  for  yellow  will  appear  blue  —  blue 
being  yellow's  complementary  color.  Shall  I  go 
on?" 


TIMBERLINE  133 

"  Don't  y'u !  "  Scipio  begged.  "  I'd  sooner 
believe  y'u  done  it  to  me." 

"  I  can  show  you  sheep."  It  was  the  boy 
again.  We  had  not  noticed  him  come  from  the 
corral  to  our  wagon,  by  which  he  now  stood.  His 
eyes  were  now  eagerly  fixed  upon  me;  as  they 
looked  into  mine  they  seemed  almost  burning 
with  some  sort  of  appeal. 

"  Hello,  Timberline !  "  said  Scipio,  not  at  all 
unkindly.  "  Still  holding  your  job  here  ?  Well, 
you  better  stick  to  it.  You're  inclined  to  drift 


some." 


He  touched  the  horses,  and  we  left  the  boy 
standing  and  looking  after  us,  lonely  and  baffled. 
But  when  a  joke  was  born  in  Scipio  it  must  out: 

"Say,  Timberline,"  he  called  back,  "better 
insure  your  clothes.  Y'u  couldn't  replace  'em." 

"  I'm  no  two-bit  man,"  retorted  the  boy  with 
anger  —  that  pitiful  anger  which  feels  a  blow  but 
cannot  give  one. 

We  drove  away  along  the  empty  stage-road, 
with  the  mountains  and  the  dying  storm,  in  which 
a  piece  of  setting  sun  would  redly  glow  and 
vanish,  making  our  leftward  horizon,  and  to  our 
right  the  great  undulations  of  a  world  so  large  as 
to  seem  the  universe  itself.  The  air  was  wet 


134  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

still,  and  full  of  the  wet  sage-brush  smell,  and  the 
ground  was  wet,  but  it  could  not  be  so  long  in 
this  sandy  region.  Three  hours  would  see  us  to 
the  next  house,  unless  we  camped  short  of  this 
upon  Broke  Axle  Creek. 

"  Why  Timberline  ? "  I  asked  after  several 
miles. 

"Well,  he  came  into  this  country  the  long,  lanky, 
innocent  kid  like  you  saw  him,  and  he'd  always 
get  too  tall  in  the  legs  for  his  latest  pair  of  pants. 
They'd  be  half  up  to  his  knees.  So  we  called  him 
that.  Guess  he's  most  forgot  his  real  name." 

"What  is  his  real  name?" 

"  I've  quite  forgot." 

This  much  talk  did  for  us  for  two  or  three  miles 
more. 

"  Must  it  be  yellow  ?  "  Scipio  asked  then. 

"Red'll  do  it,  too,"  I  answered.  "Only  you 
see  green  then,  I  think.  And  there  are  others." 

"  H'm,"  observed  Scipio.  "Most  as  queer  as 
chemistry.  D'  y'u  know  chemistry  ?  " 

"  Why,  what  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Just  the  embalmin'  side.  Didn't  y'u  know  I 
assisted  an  undertaker  wunst  in  Kansas  City  ?  " 

"  What's  that  ? "  I  interrupted  sharply,  for 
something  out  in  the  darkness  had  jumped. 


TIMBERLINE  135 

"  Does  a  stray  steer  scare  you  like  that  to-night? 
Now,  that  embalmin'  trick  give  me  a  notion  I'll 
work  out  some  time.  What  do  you  miss  worst 
in  camp  grub  ?  " 

"  Eggs,"  said  I,  immediately. 

"  That's  you.  Well,  I'm  going  to  invent  em 
balmed  eggs  —  somehow." 

"  Hope  you  do,"  said  I.  "  Do  you  believe  I'm 
going  to  get  sheep  this  time?  It's  all  I  came 
for." 

"You'll  get  sheep,"  Scipio  declared,  "  or  I'll  lose 
my  job  at  Sunk  Creek  ranch."  Judge  Henry  had 
lent  him  to  me  for  my  hunting  trip.  "  Of  course 
I'd  not  call  'em  embalmed  eggs,"  he  finished. 

"  Condensed,"  I  suggested.  "  Like  the  milk. 
Do  you  suppose  the  man  really  did  go  to  Idaho  ?  " 

"  They  do  go  there  —  and  they  go  everywheres 
else  that's  convenient —  Canada,  San  Francisco, 
some  Indian  reservation.  He'll  never  get  found. 
I  expect  like  as  not  he  killed  the  confederate 
along  with  the  victims  —  it's  claimed  there  was  a 
cook  along,  too.  He's  never  showed  up.  It's  a 
bad  proposition  to  get  tangled  up  with  a  murderer." 

I  sat  thinking  of  this  and  that  and  the  other. 

"That  was  a  superior  lie  about  the  lights  on  the 
steers'  horns,"  I  remarked  next. 


136  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

Scipio  shoved  one  hand  under  his  hat  and 
scratched  his  head.  "They  say  that's  so"  he 
said.  "  I've  heard  it.  Never  seen  it.  But  — tell 
y'u  —  he  ain't  got  brains  enough  to  invent  a  thing 
like  that.  And  he's  too  conceited  to  tell  another 
man's  lie." 

"  Well,"  I  pondered,  "  there's  Saint  Elmo's  fire. 
That's  genuine." 

Scipio  desired  to  know  about  this,  and  I  told 
him  of  the  lights  that  are  seen  at  the  ends  of  the 
yards  and  spars  of  ships  at  sea  in  atmospheric 
conditions  of  a  certain  kind.  He  let  me  also  tell 
him  of  the  old  Breton  sailor  belief  that  these  lights 
are  the  souls  of  dead  sailor-men  come  back  to 
pray  for  the  living  in  peril ;  but  he  stopped  me 
soon  when  I  attempted  to  speak  of  charged  thun 
der  clouds,  and  the  positive,  and  the  negative,  and 
conductors,  and  Leyden  jars.  "  That's  a  heap 
worse  than  the  other  stuff  about  yellow  and  blue," 
he  objected.  "  Here's  Broke  Axle.  D'  y'u  say 
camp  here,  or  make  it  in  to  the  station  ? " 

"  Well,  if  that  filthy  woman  still  keeps  the  sta 
tion— " 

"  She  does.  She's  a  buck-skinned  son-of-a-gun. 
We'll  camp  here,  Professor." 

Scipio  had  first  called  me  by  this  name  before 


TIMBERLINE  13  7 

he  knew  me,  in  Colonel  Cyrus  Jones's  Eating  Pal 
ace  in  Omaha,  intending  no  compliment  by  the 
term.  Since  that  day  many  adventures  and  sur 
prises  shared  together  had  changed  it  to  a  word 
of  familiar  regard  ;  he  used  it  sparingly,  and  as  a 
rule  only  upon  occasions  of  discomfort  or  mis 
chance.  "  You'll  get  sheep,  Professor,"  he  now 
repeated  in  a  voice  of  reassurance,  and  wenfe  his 
way  to  attend  to  the  horses  for  the  night. 

The  earth  had  dried,  the  plenteous  stars  were 
bright  in  the  sky,  we  needed  no  tent  over  us,  and 
merely  spread  my  rubber  blanket  and  the  buffalo 
robes,  and  so  beneath  light  covers  waited  for 
sleep  to  the  gurgle,  sluggish  and  musical,  of  Broke 
Axle.  Scipio's  sleep  was  superior  to  mine,  com 
ing  sooner  and  burying  him  deeper  from  the 
world  of  wakefulness.  Thus  he  did  not  become 
aware  of  a  figure  sitting  by  our  little  fire  of  embers, 
whose  presence  penetrated  my  thinner  sleep  until 
my  eyes  opened  and  saw  it  Such  things  give 
me  a  shock,  which,  I  suppose,  must  be  fear,  but  it 
is  not  at  all  fear  of  the  mind.  I  lay  still,  drawing 
my  gun  stealthily  into  a  good  position  and  think 
ing  what  were  best  to  do ;  but  he  must  have  heard 
me. 

"  Lemme  me  show  you  sheep." 


i38  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"What's  that?"  It  was  Scipio  starting  to  life 
and  action. 

"Don't  shoot  Timberline,"  I  said.  "He's 
come  to  show  us  sheep." 

Scipio  sat  staring  stupefied  at  the  figure 
by  the  embers,  and  then  he  slowly  turned 
his  head  round  to  me,  and  I  thought  he  was 
going  to  pour  out  one  of  those  long,  corrosive 
streams  of  comment  that  usually  burst  from 
him  when  he  was  enough  surprised.  But  he 
was  too  much  surprised.  "  His  name  is  Henry 
Hall,"  he  said  to  me  very  mildly.  "  I've  just 
remembered  it." 

The  patient  figure  by  the  embers  rose. 
"  There's  sheep  in  the  Washakie  Needles. 
Lots  and  lots  and  lots.  I  seen  'em  myself  in 
the  spring.  I  can  take  you  right  to  'em.  Don't 
make  me  go  back  and  be  stock- tender."  He 
recited  all  this  in  a  sort  of  rising  wail  until 
the  last  sentence,  in  which  the  entreaty  shook 
his  voice. 

"  Washakie  Needles  is  the  nearest  likely 
place,"  muttered  Scipio. 

"  If  you  don't  get  any,  you  needn't  to  pay 
me  any,"  urged  the  boy;  and  he  stretched  out 
an  arm  to  mark  his  words  and  his  prayer. 


TIMBERLINE  139 

We  sat  in  our  beds  and  he  stood  waiting 
by  the  embers  to  hear  his  fate,  while  nothing 
made  a  sound  but  Broke  Axle. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  I  said.  "  We  were  talking  of 
a  third  man." 

"  A  man,"  said  Scipio.     "  Yes." 

"  I  can  cook,  I  can  pack,  I  can  cook  good 
bread,  and  I  can  show  you  sheep,  and  if  I 
don't  you  needn't  to  pay  me  a  cent,"  entreated 
the  boy. 

"  He  sure  means  what  he  says,"  Scipio  com 
mented.  "  It's  your  trip." 

Thus  it  was  I  came  to  hire  Timberline. 

Dawn  showed  him  in  the  same  miserable 
rags  he  wore  on  my  first  sight  of  him  at  the 
corral,  and  these  proved  his  sole  visible  property 
of  any  kind;  he  didn't  possess  a  change  of  any 
thing,  he  hadn't  brought  away  from  Rongis  so 
much  as  a  handkerchief  tied  up  with  things 
inside  it ;  most  wonderful  of  all,  he  owned  not 
even  a  horse — and  in  that  country  in  those 
days  five  dollars'  worth  of  horse  was  within 
the  means  of  almost  anybody. 

But  he  was  not  unclean,  as  I  had  feared. 
He  washed  his  one  set  of  rags,  rand  his  skin- 
and-bones  body,  by  the  light  of  the  first  sun- 


i4o  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

rise  on  Broke  Axle,  and  this  proved  a  not  too 
rare  habit  with  him,  which  made  all  the  more 
strange  his  neglect  to  throw  the  rags  away  and 
wear  the  new  clothes  I  bought  and  gave  him 
as  we  passed  through  Lander. 

"  Timber-line,"  said  Scipio  the  next  day,  "  if 
Anthony  Comstock  came  up  in  this  country 
he'd  jail  you." 

"  Who's  he  ?  "  screamed  Timberline,  sharply. 

uHe  lives  in  Noo  York,  and  he's  agin  the 
nood.  That  costume  of  yours  is  getting  close 
on  to  what  they  claim  Venus  and  other  immoral 
Greek  statuary  used  to  wear." 

After  this  Timberline  put  on  the  Lander 
clothes,  but  on  one  of  his  wash-days  we  dis 
covered  that  he  kept  the  rags  next  his  skin! 
This  clinging  to  such  worthless  things  seemed 
probably  the  result  of  destitution,  of  having  had 
nothing,  day  after  day  and  month  after  month. 
His  poor  little  pay  at  Rongis,  which  we  gradually 
learned  they  had  always  ,got  back  from  him 
by  one  trick  or  another,  was  less  than  half  what 
I  now  gave  him  for  his  services,  and  I  offered  to 
advance  him  some  of  this  at  places  where  it  could 
be  spent ;  but  he  told  me  to  keep  it  until  he  had 
earned  the  whole  of  it. 


mm  H 


MURDER 


I-     C- 


Waiting  for  nothing  was  stamped  plain  upon  him  from  head  to  foot 


TIMBERLINE  141 

Yet  he  did  not  seem  a  miser;  his  willingness 
to  help  at  anything  in  camp  was  unchanging,  and 
a  surer  test  of  not  being  stingy  was  the  in 
difference  he  showed  to  losing  or  winning  the 
little  sums  we  played  at  cards  for  after  supper 
and  before  bed.  The  score  I  kept  in  my  diary 
showed  him  to  belong  to  the  losing  class.  His 
help  in  camp  was  real,  not  merely  well  meant ; 
the  curious  haze  or  blur  in  which  his  mind  had 
seemed  to  be  at  the  corral  cleared  away,  and  he 
was  worth  his  wages.  What  he  had  said  he  could 
do,  he  did,  and  more.  And  yet,  when  I  looked 
at  him,  he  was  somehow  forever  pitiful. 

"Do  you  think  anything  is  the  matter  with 
him  ?  "  I  asked  Scipio. 

"  Only  just  one  thing.  He'd  oughtn't  never 
to  have  been  born." 

"  That  probably  applies  to  several  million 
people  all  over  this  planet." 

"  Sure,"  assented  Scipio  cheerfully.  He  was 
not  one  of  these. 

"  He's  so  eternally  silent !  "  I  said  presently. 

"A  man  don't  ask  to  be  born,"  pursued 
Scipio. 

"  Parents  can't  stop  to  think  of  that,"  I  re 
turned. 


I42  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  H'm,"  mused  Scipio.  "  Somebody  or  some 
thing  has  taken  good  care  they'll  never." 

We  continued  along  the  trail,  engrossed  in  our 
several  thoughts,  and  I  could  hear  Timberline, 
behind  us  with  the  pack  horses,  singing :  — 

If  that  I  was  where  I  would  be, 
Then  should  I  be  where  I  am  not. 

Our  mode  of  travel  had  changed  at  Fort 
Washakie.  There  we  had  left  the  wagon  and 
put  ourselves  and  our  baggage  upon  horses,  be 
cause  we  should  presently  be  in  a  country  where 
wagons  could  not  go.  I  suppose  that  more  ad 
vice  is  offered  and  less  taken  than  of  any  other 
free  commodity  in  the  world.  Before  I  had  set 
tled  where  to  go  for  sheep,  nobody  could  tell  me 
where  to  go ;  now  almost  every  one  advised  some 
other  than  the  place  I  had  chosen.  "  Washakie 
Needles?"  they  would  repeat  unfavorably;  "  Un 
ion  Peak's  nearer;"  or,  "You  go  up  Jakey's 
Fork ; "  or  "  Red  Creek's  half  as  far,  and  twice 
as  many  sheep;"  or,  "Last  spring  I  seen  a  ram 
up  Dinwiddie  big  as  a  horse." 

This  discouragement,  strung  along  our  road, 
had  small  weight  with  me  because  it  was  just 
the  idle  talk  of  those  dingy  loafers  of  the  West- 
ern  cabin  and  saloon  who  never  hunted,  never 


TIMBERLINE  143 

did  anything  but  sit  still  and  assume  to  know 
your  own  business  better  than  you  knew  it  your 
self  ;  it  was  only  once  that  the  vigorous  words  of 
some  by-passer  on  a  horse  caused  Scipio  and  me 
to  discuss  dropping  the  Washakie  Needles  in 
favor  of  the  country  at  the  head  of  Green  River. 
We  were  below  Bull  Lake  at  the  forking  of  the 
ways ;  none  of  us  had  ever  been  in  the  Green 
River  country,  while  Timberline  evidently  knew 
the  Washakie  Needles  well,  and  this  was  what 
finally  decided  us.  But  Timberline  had  been 
thrown  into  the  strangest  agitation  by  our  un 
certainty.  He  had  said  nothing,  but  he  walked 
about,  coming  near,  going  away,  sitting  down, 
getting  up,  instead  of  placidly  watching  his  fire 
and  cooking;  until  at  last  I  told  him  not  to 
worry,  that  wherever  we  went  I  should  keep  him 
and  pay  him  in  any  case.  Then  he  spoke  :  — 
"  I  didn't  hire  to  go  to  Green  River." 
"  What  have  you  got  against  Green  River  ?  " 
"  I  hired  to  go  to  the  Washakie  Needles." 
His  agitation  left  him  immediately  upon  our 
turning  our  faces  in  that  direction.  What  had 
so  disturbed  him  we  could  not  guess;  but  later 
that  day  Scipio  rode  up  to  me,  bursting  with  a 
solution.  He  had  visited  a  freighter's  camp,  a 


I44  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

hundred  yards  off  the  road  in  the  sage-brush  (we 
were  following  the  Embar  trail),  and  the  freighter, 
upon  learning  our  destination,  had  said  he  sup 
posed  we  were  "  after  the  reward."  It  did  not 
get  through  my  head  at  once,  but  when  Scipio 
reminded  me  of  the  yellow  poster  and  the  mur 
der,  it  got  through  fast  enough:  the  body  had 
been  found  on  Owl  Creek,  and  the  middle  fork  of 
Owl  Creek  headed  among  the  Washakie  Needles. 
There  might  be  another  body,  —  the  other  East 
ern  man  who  had  never  been  seen  since,  —  and 
there  was  a  possible  third,  the  confederate,  the 
cook ;  many  held  it  was  the  murderer's  best  pol 
icy  to  destroy  him  as  well. 

Owl  Creek  had  yielded  no  more  bodies  after 
that  one  first  found.  Perhaps  the  victims  had 
been  killed  separately.  Before  starting  on  their 
last  journey  in  this  world,  they  had  let  it  get  out 
somewhere  down  on  the  railroad  that  they  car 
ried  money;  this  was  their  awful  mistake,  con 
ducting  death  to  them  in  the  shape  of  the  man 
who  had  offered  himself  as  their  guide,  and  whom 
they  had  engaged  without  more  knowledge  of 
him  than  he  disclosed  to  them  himself.  Red 
Dog  was  his  name  in  Colorado,  where  he  was 
"wanted."  The  all-day  sitters  and  drinkers  in 


TIMBERLINE  145 

the  cabins  along  the  road  had  their  omniscient 
word  as  to  this  also :  they  could  have  told  those 
Easterners  not  to  hire  Red  Dog ! 

So  now  we  had  Timberline  accounted  for  satis 
factorily  to  ourselves ;  he  was  "  after  the  reward." 
We  never  said  this  to  him,  but  we  worked  out  his 
steps  from  the  start.  As  stock-tender  at  Rongis 
he  had  seen  that  yellow  poster  pasted  up,  and  had 
read  it,  day  after  day,  with  its  promise  of  what  to 
him  was  a  fortune.  To  Owl  Creek  he  could  not 
go  alone,  having  no  money  to  buy  a  horse,  and 
being  afraid,  too,  perhaps.  If  he  could  only  find 
that  missing  dead  man — or  the  two  of  them — he 
might  find  a  clew.  My  sheep  hunt  had  dropped 
like  a  Providence  into  his  hand. 

We  got  across  the  hot  country  where  rattle 
snakes  were  thick  where  neither  man  lived  nor 
water  ran,  and  came  to  the  first  lone  habita 
tion  in  this  new  part  of  the  world  —  a  new  set  of 
mountains,  a  new  set  of  creeks.  A  man  stood  at 
the  door  watching  us  come. 

"  Know  him  ?  "  I  asked  Scipio. 

"  I've  heard  of  him,"  said  Scipio.  "  He  mar 
ried  a  squaw." 

We  were  now  opposite  the  man's  door.  "  You 
folks  after  the  reward  ? "  said  he. 


146  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

"  After  mountain  sheep,"  I  replied,  somewhat 
angry. 

We  camped  some  ten  miles  beyond  him,  and 
the  next  day  crossed  a  low  range,  stopping  near 
another  cabin  for  noon.  They  gave  us  a  quan 
tity  of  berries  they  had  picked,  and  we  gave  them 
some  potatoes. 

"  After  the  reward  ? "  said  one  of  them  as  we 
rode  away,  and  I  contradicted  him  with  temper. 

"  Lie  to  'em,"  said  Scipio.  "  Say  yes."  He 
developed  his  theory  of  truthfulness;  it  was  not 
real  falsehood  to  answer  as  you  chose  questions 
people  had  no  right  to  ask ;  in  fact,  the  only  real 
lie  was  when  you  denied  something  wrong  you 
had  done.  "And  I've  told  hundreds  of  them, 
too,"  he  concluded  pensively. 

Something  had  begun  to  weigh  upon  our 
cheerfulness  in  this  new  country.  The  reward 
dogged  us,  and  we  saw  strange  actions  of  peo 
ple  twice.  We  came  upon  some  hot  sulphur 
springs1  and  camped  near  them,  with  a  wide 
stream  between  us  and  another  camp.  Those 
people  —  two  men  and  two  women  —  emerged 
from  their  tent,  surveyed  us,  nodded  to  us,  and 

1  To-day  the  flourishing  resort  Thermopolis,  connected  with  both  north 
and  south  by  an  important  line  of  railway.  In  those  days  this  lonely  spot 
must  have  been  two  hundred  miles  from  any  railway. 


TIMBERLINE  147 

settled  down  again.  Next  morning  they  had 
vanished;  we  could  see  the  gleam  of  empty 
bottles  on  the  bank  opposite  where  they  had  been. 
And  once,  riding  out  of  a  little  valley,  we  sighted 
close  to  us  through  cottonwoods  a  horseman 
leading  a  pack  horse  out  of  the  next  little  valley. 

He  did  not  nod  to  us,  but  pursued  his  parallel 
course  some  three  hundred  yards  off,  until  a  rise 
in  the  ground  hid  him  for  a  while;  when  this 
was  passed  he  was  no  longer  where  he  should 
have  been,  abreast  of  us,  but  far  to  the  front,  gal 
loping  away.  That  was  our  last  sight  of  him. 
We  spoke  of  these  actions  a  little.  Did  these 
people  suspect  us,  or  were  they  afraid  we  sus 
pected  them? 

All  we  ever  knew  was  that  suspicion  had  now 
gradually  been  wafted  through  the  whole  air  and 
filled  it  like  a  coming  change  of  weather.  I  could 
no  longer  look  at  a  rock  or  a  clump  of  trees  with 
out  a  disagreeable  thought:  was  something,  or 
somebody,  behind  the  clump  of  trees  and  the 
rock?  would  they  come  out  or  wait  until  we  had 
passed  ?  This  influence  seemed  to  gather  even 
more  thick  and  chill  as  we  turned  up  the  middle 
fork  of  Owl  Creek ;  magpies,  that  I  had  always 
liked  to  watch  and  listen  to,  had  become  part  of 


148  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

the  general  increasing  imcomfortableness,  and 
their  cries  sounded  no  longer  cheerful,  but  harsh 
and  unfriendly. 

As  we  rode  up  the  narrowing  canon  of  Owl 
Creek,  the  Washakie  Needles,  those  twin  spires 
of  naked  rock,  rose  into  view  high  above  the 
clustered  mountain-tops,  closing  the  canon  in, 
shutting  out  the  setting  sun.  But  the  nearness 
of  my  goal  and  my  sheep  hunt  brought  me  no 
elation.  Those  miserable  questions  about  re 
ward,  the  strange  conduct  of  those  unknown 
people,  dwelt  in  my  mind.  I  saw  in  memory  the 
floating  image  of  that  poster ;  I  wondered  if  I,  in 
my  clambering  for  sheep,  should  stumble  upon 
signs  —  evidence  —  an  old  camp  —  ashes  —  tent- 
pegs  —  or  the  horrible  objects  that  had  come 
here  alive  and  never  gone  hence.  I  could  not 
drive  these  fancies  from  me  amid  the  austere 
silence  of  the  place  where  it  had  happened. 

"  He  can  talk  when  he  wants  to." 

It  made  me  start,  this  remark  of  Scipio's  as  he 
rode  behind  me. 

"  What  has  Timberline  been  telling  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  But  he's  been  telling  himself  a 
heap  of  something."  In  the  rear  of  our  single- 
file  party  Timberline  rode,  and  I  could  hear  him 


TIMBERLINE  149 

rambling  on  in  a  rising  and  falling  voice.  He 
ceased  once  or  twice  while  I  listened,  breaking 
out  again  as  if  there  had  been  no  interruption. 
It  was  a  relief  to  have  a  practical  trouble  threat 
ening  us ;  if  the  boy  was  going  off  his  head,  we 
should  have  something  real  to  deal  with.  But 
when  I  had  chosen  a  camp  and  we  were  unsad 
dling  and  throwing  the  packs  on  the  ground, 
Timberline  was  in  his  customary  silence.  After 
supper  I  walked  off  with  Scipio  where  our  horses 
were. 

"  Do  you  think  he's  sick  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Scipio.  And  that  was 
all  we  said,  for  we  liked  the  subject  too  little  to 
pursue  it. 

Next  morning  I  was  over  at  the  creek  wash 
ing  before  breakfast.  The  sun  was  coming  in 
through  .the  open  east  end  of  our  canon,  the 
shaking  leaves  of  the  quaking-asp  twinkled  in  a 
blithe  air,  and  a  night's  sleep  had  brought  me 
back  to  a  much  robuster  mood.  I  had  my  field- 
glasses  with  me,  and  far  up,  far  up  among  patches 
of  snow  and  green  grass,  I  could  see  sheep  on 
both  sides  of  the  valley. 

"  So  you  sleep  well  ?  "  said  Scipio. 

"Like  a  log.     You?" 


iSo  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Like  another.     Somebody  in  camp  didn't." 

I  turned  and  looked  at  Timberline  cooking 
over  at  camp. 

"Looking  for  the  horses  early  this  morning," 
pursued  Scipio,  "  I  found  his  tracks  up  and  down 
all  over  everywheres." 

"  Perhaps  he  has  found  the  reward." 

Scipio  laughed,  and  I  laughed.  It  was  the  only 
thing  to  do.  How  much  had  the  boy  walked  in 
the  darkness  ? 

"  I  think  I'll  take  him  with  us,"  I  then  said. 
"  I'd  rather  have  him  with  us." 

During  breakfast  we  discussed  which  hill  we 
should  ascend,  and,  this  decided  on,  I  was  about 
to  tell  Timberline  his  company  was  expected, 
when  he  saved  me  the  trouble  by  requesting  to 
be  allowed  to  go  himself.  His  usually  pale, 
harmless  eyes  were  full  of  some  sort  of  glitter: 
did  his  fingers  feel  that  they  were  about  to  clutch 
the  reward  ? 

That  was  the  thirtieth  of  August ;  a  quarter 
of  a  century  and  more  has  passed ;  my  age  is 
double  what  it  was ;  but  to-day,  on  any  thirtieth 
of  August,  if  I  think  of  the  date,  the  Washakie 
Needles  stand  in  my  eyes,  —  twin  spires  of  naked 
rock,  —  and  I  see  what  happened  there. 


TIMBERLINE  151 

The  three  of  us  left  camp.  It  was  warm  sum 
mer  in  the  valley  by  the  streaming  channel  of  our 
creek,  and  the  quiet  day  smelled  of  the  pines. 
We  should  not  have  taken  horses,  they  served  us 
so  little  in  such  a  climb  as  that.  On  the  level 
top  our  legs  and  breathing  got  relief,  and  far 
away  up  the  next  valley  were  sheep.  This  sec 
ond  top  we  reached,  but  they  were  gone  to  the 
next  beyond,  where  we  saw  them  across  a  mile  or 
so  of  space.  In  the  bottom  below  us  ran  the 
north  fork  of  Owl  Creek  like  a  fine  white  wire 
drawn  through  the  distant  green  of  the  pines. 
Up  in  this  world  peaks  and  knife-edged  ridges 
bristled  to  our  north  away  and  away  beyond 
sight. 

We  now  made  a  new  descent  and  ascent,  but 
had  no  luck,  and  by  three  o'clock  we  stood  upon 
a  lofty,  wet,  slipping  ledge  that  fell  away  on  three 
sides,  sheer  or  broken,  to  the  summer  and  the 
warmth  that  lay  thousands  of  feet  below.  Here 
it  began  to  be  very  cold,  and  to  the  west  the  sky 
now  clotted  into  advancing  lumps  of  thick  thun 
der-cloud,  black,  weaving  and  merging  heavily 
and  swiftly  in  a  fierce,  rising  wind.  We  got 
away  from  this  promontory  to  follow  a  sheep 
trail,  and  as  we  went  along  the  backbone  of 


152  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

the  mountain,  two  or  three  valleys  off  to  the 
right,  long,  black  streamers  let  down  from  the 
cloud.  They  hung  and  wavered  mistily  close 
over  the  pines  that  did  not  grow  within  a  thou 
sand  feet  of  our  high  level.  I  gazed  at  the 
streamers,  and  discerned  water,  or  something, 
pouring  down  in  them.  Above  our  heads  the 
day  was  still  serene,  and  we  had  a  chance  to 
make  camp  without  a  wetting.  This  I  suggested 
we  should  do,  since  the  day's  promise  of  sport 
had  failed. 

"  No  !  no !  "  said  Timberline,  hoarsely.  "  See 
there !  We  can  get  them.  We're  above  them. 
They  don't  see  us  !  " 

I  saw  no  sheep  where  he  pointed,  but  I  saw 
him.  His  eyes  looked  red-hot.  He  insisted  the 
sheep  had  merely  moved  behind  a  rock,  and  so 
we  went  on.  The  strip  of  clear  sky  narrowed, 
and  gray  bars  of  rain  were  falling  between  us 
and  the  pieces  of  woodland  that,  but  a  moment 
since,  had  been  unblurred.  Blasts  of  frozen  wind 
rose  about  us,  causing  me  to  put  on  my  rubber 
coat  before  my  fingers  should  grow  too  numb  to 
button  it.  We  mo^d  forward  to  a  junction  of 
the  knife-ridges  upon  which  a  second  storm  was 
hastening  from  the  southwest  over  deep  valleys 


TIMBERLINE  153 

that  we  turned  our  backs  upon,  and  kept  slowly 
urging  our  horses  near  the  Great  Washakie 
Needle. 

We  stopped  at  the  base  of  its  top  pinnacle, 
glad  to  reach  this  slanting  platform  of  compara 
tive  safety.  No  sheep  were  anywhere,  but  I  had 
ceased  to  care  about  sheep.  Jutting  stones,  all 
but  their  upturned  points  and  edges  buried  in 
the  ground,  made  this  platform  a  rough  place  to 
pick  one's  way  over  —  but  this  was  a  trifle.  From 
these  jutting  points  a  humming  sound  now  began 
to  rise,  a  sort  of  droning,  which  at  first  ran  about 
here  and  there  among  them,  with  a  flickering,  aeo- 
lian  capaciousness,  then  settled  to  a  steady  chord : 
the  influence  of  the  electric  storm  had  encircled 
us.  We  all  looked  at  each  other,  but  turned  im 
mediately  again  to  watch  the  portentous,  sublime 
scene. 

At  the  edge  of  our  platform  the  world  fell 
straight  a  thousand  feet  down  to  a  valley  like 
the  bottom  of  a  cauldron ;  on  the  far  side  of 
the  cauldron  the  air,  like  a  stroke  of  magic,  be 
came  thick  white,  and  through  it  leaped  the  first 
lightning,  a  blinding  violet.  &  An  arm  of  the 
storm  reached  over  to  us,  the  cauldron  sank  from 
sight  in  a  white  sea,  and  the  hail  cut  my  face  so 


154  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

I  bowed  it  down.  Mixed  with  the  hail  fell  softer 
flakes,  which,  as  they  touched  the  earth,  glowed 
for  a  moment  like  tiny  bulbs,  and  went  out.  On 
the  ground  I  saw  what  looked  like  a  tangle  of 
old,  human  footprints  in  the  hard-crusted  mud. 
These  the  pellets  of  the  swarming  hail  soon 
filled.  This  tempest  of  flying  ice  struck  my 
body,  my  horse,  raced  over  the  ground  like  spray 
on  the  crest  of  breaking  waves,  and  drove  me  to 
dismount  and  sit  under  the  horse,  huddled  to 
gether  even  as  he  was  huddled  against  the  fury 
and  the  biting  pain  of  the  hail. 

From  under  the  horse's  belly  I  looked  out 
upon  a  chaos  of  shooting,  hissing  white,  through 
which,  in  every  direction,  lightning  flashed  and 
leaped,  while  the  fearful  crashes  behind  the  cur 
tain  of  the  hail  sounded  as  if  I  should  see  a  de 
stroyed  world  when  the  curtain  lifted.  The  place 
was  so  flooded  with  electricity  that  I  gave  up  the 
shelter  of  my  horse,  and  left  my  rifle  on  the 
ground  and  moved  away  from  the  vicinity  of 
these  points  of  attraction.  Of  my  companions  I 
had  not  thought ;  I  now  noticed  them,  crouching 
separately,  much  as  I  crouched. 

So  I  sat  —  I  know  not  how  long  —  chilled 
from  spine  to  brisket,  my  stiff  boots  growing 


TIMBERLINE  155 

wet,  my  discarded  gloves  a  pulp,  like  my  hat, 
and  melted  hail  trickling  from  the  rubber  coat 
to  my  legs.  At  length  the  hail-stones  fell  more 
gently,  the  near  view  opened,  revealing  white 
winter  on  all  save  the  steep,  gray  Needles;  the 
thick,  white  curtain  of  hail  departed  slowly ;  the 
hail  where  I  was  fell  more  scantily  still. 

It  was  slowly  going  away,  —  the  great  low- 
prowling  cloud,  —  we  should  presently  be  left  in 
peace  unscathed,  though  it  was  at  its  tricks  still. 
Its  brimming,  spilling-over  electricity  was  now 
playing  a  new  prank  —  mocking  my  ears  with 
crackling  noises,  as  of  a  camp-fire  somewhere 
on  earth,  or  in  air.  While  I  listened  curiously 
to  these,  my  eye  fell  on  Timberline.  He  was 
turning,  leaning,  crouching,  listening  too.  When 
he  crouched,  it  was  to  peer  at  those  old  foot 
prints  I  had  noticed.  There  was  something 
frightful  in  the  sight  of  his  face,  shrunk  to  half 
its  size,  and  I  called  to  reassure  him,  and  beck 
oned  that  it  was  all  right,  that  we  were  all  right. 
I  doubt  if  he  saw  or  heard  me. 

Something  somewhere  near  my  head  set  up  a 
delicate  sound.  It  seemed  in  my  hat.  I  rose  and 
began  to  wander,  bewildered  by  this.  The  hail 
was  now  falling  very  fine  and  gentle,  when  sud- 


156  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

denly  I  was  aware  of  its  stinging  behind  my  ear 
more  sharply  than  it  had  done  at  all.  I  turned 
my  face  in  its  direction  and  found  its  blows  harm 
less,  while  the  stinging  in  my  ear  grew  sharper. 
The  hissing  continued  close  to  my  head  whenever 
I  walked.  It  resembled  the  little  watery  escape  of 
gas  from  a  charged  bottle  whose  cork  is  being 
slowly  drawn. 

I  was  now  more  really  disturbed  than  I  had 
been  during  the  storm's  worst,  and  meeting  Scipio, 
who  was  also  wandering,  I  asked  if  he  felt  any 
thing.  He  nodded  uneasily,  when,  suddenly —  I 
know  not  why — I  snatched  my  hat  off.  The 
hissing  was  in  the  brim,  and  it  died  out  as  I 
looked  at  the  leather  binding  and  the  stitches.  I 
expected  to  see  some  insect  there,  or  some  visible 
reason  for  the  noise.  I  saw  nothing,  but  the 
pricking  behind  my  ear  had  also  stopped.  Then 
I  knew  my  wet  hat  had  been  charged  like  a  Ley- 
den  jar  with  electricity.  Scipio,  who  had  watched 
me,  jerked  his  hat  off  also. 

"  Lights  on  steer  horns  are  nothing  to  this,"  I 
began,  when  a  piercing  scream  cut  me  short. 

Timberline,  at  the  other  side  of  the  stony  plat 
form,  had  clapped  his  hands  to  his  head. 

"  Take  off  your  hat,"  I  shouted. 


TIMBERLINE  157 

But  he  had  fallen  on  his  knees,  and  was  ripping, 
tearing  his  clothes.  He  plucked  and  dragged  at 
the  old  rags  next  his  skin.  Then  he  flung  his 
hands  to  the  sky. 

"  O  God  !  "  he  screamed.  "  Oh,  Jesus  !  Keep 
him  off  me  !  Oh,  save  me  !  "  His  glaring  face 
now  seemed  fixed  on  something  close  to  him. 
"  Leave  me  go  !  I  didn't  push  you  over.  You 
know  he  made  me  push  you.  I  meant  no 
thing.  I  knowed  nothing,  I  was  only  the  cook. 
Why,  I  liked  you  —  you  was  kind  to  me.  Oh, 
why  did  I  ever  go !  There !  Take  it  back ! 
There's  your  money!  He  give  it  to  me  when 
you  was  dead  to  make  me  hush  up.  There  !  I 
never  spent  a  cent  of  it ! " 

He  tore  from  his  rags  the  hush-money  that  had 
been  sewed  in  them,  and  scattered  the  fluttering 
bills  in  the  air.  Then  once  more  he  clapped  his 
hands  to  his  head  as  he  kneeled. 

"  Take  off  your  hat !  "  I  cried  again. 

He  rose,  stared  wildly,  and  screamed :  "  I  tell 
you  you've  got  it  all.  It's  all  he  gave  to  me !  " 

The  next  moment  he  plunged  into  the  cauldron, 
a  thousand  feet  below. 

On  the  following  day  we  found  the  two  bodies 
—  that  second  victim  the  country  had  wondered 


158  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

about,  and  the  boy.  And  we  counted  the  money, 
the  guilty  money  that  had  for  a  while  closed  the 
boy's  innocent  mouth:  five  ten-dollar  bills!  Not 
much  to  hide  murder  for,  not  much  to  draw  a 
tortured  soul  back  to  the  scene  of  another's  crime. 
The  true  murderer  was  not  caught,  and  no  one 
ever  claimed  the  reward. 


THE   GIFT    HORSE 

HIGH  up  the  mountain  amid  white  Winter  I 
sat,  and  looked  far  down  where  still  the  yellow 
Autumn  stayed,  looked  at  Wind  River  shrunk  to 
map-size,  a  basking  valley,  a  drowsy  country, 
tawny  and  warm,  winding  southeastward  away  to 
the  tawny  plain,  and  there  dissolving  with  air  and 
earth  in  one  deep,  hazy,  golden  sleep.  Some 
where  in  that  slumberous  haze  beyond  the  buttes 
and  utmost  foothills,  and  burrowed  into  the  vast 
unfeatured  level,  lay  my  problem,  Still  Hunt 
Spring. 

I  had  inquired  much  about  Still  Hunt  Spring. 
Every  man  seemed  to  know  of  it,  but  no  man 
you  talked  with  had  been  to  it.  Description  of  it 
always  came  to  me  at  second  hand.  Scipio  I 
except;  Scipio  assured  me  he  had  once  been  to 
it.  It  was  no  easy  spot  to  find;  a  man  might 
pass  it  close  and  come  back  and  pass  it  on  the 
other  side,  yet  never  know  it  was  at  his  elbow: 
so  they  said.  The  Indians  believed  a  super 
natural  thing  about  it  —  that  it  was  not  there 


160  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

every  day,  and  few  of  them  would  talk  readily 
about  it ;  yet  it  was  they  who  had  first  showed  it  to 
the  white  man.  And  because  they  repeated  con 
cerning  a  valley  two  hundred  feet  deep,  a  mile  long, 
and  a  quarter-mile  wide  at  its  widest,  this  haunted 
legend  of  presence  and  absence,  its  name  now 
possessed  my  mind.  Like  a  strain  of  music  it  re 
curred  to  my  thoughts  each  day  of  my  November 
hunting  in  the  mountains  of  Wind  River.  Still 
Hunt  Spring;  down  there,  somewhere  in  that 
drowsy  distance,  it  lay.  One  trail  alone  led  into 
it ;  from  one  end  of  the  secret  ravine  to  the  other 
—  they  said  —  grew  a  single  file  of  trees  lank  and 
tall  as  if  they  stood  on  stilts  to  see  out  over  the 
top,  and  at  the  further  end  was  a  spring,  small, 
cold,  and  sweet ;  though  it  welled  up  in  the  midst 
of  sage-brush  desert,  there  was  no  alkali  —  they 
said  —  in  that  water.  Still  Hunt  Spring! 

That  night  I  announced  to  my  two  camp  com 
panions  my  new  project :  next  summer  I  should 
see  Still  Hunt  Spring  for  myself. 

"  Alone  ?  "  Scipio  inquired. 

"  Not  if  you  will  come." 

"  It  is  no  tenderfoot's  trail." 

"  Then  if  I  find  it  I  shall  cease  to  be  a  tender 
foot." 


THE  GIFT   HORSE  161 

"  Go  on,"  said  Scipio,  with  indulgence.  "  We'll 
not  let  you  stay  lost." 

"It  is  no  tenderfoot's  place,"  the  cook  now 
muttered. 

"  Then  you  have  been  there  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

He  shook  his  head.  "  I  am  in  this  country  for 
my  health,"  he  drawled.  On  this  a  certain  look 
passed  between  my  companions,  and  a  certain 
laugh.  A  sudden  suspicion  came  to  me,  which  I 
kept  to  myself  until  next  afternoon  when  we  had 
broken  this  camp  where  no  game  save  health 
seemed  plentiful,  and  were  down  the  mountains 
at  Horse  Creek  and  Wind  River. 

"  I  don't  believe  there  is  any  such  place  as  Still 
Hunt  Spring." 

This  I  said  sitting  with  a  company  in  the  cabin 
known  later  on  the  Postal  Route  map  as  Dubois. 
The  nearest  post-office  then  was  seventy-five 
miles  away.  No  one  spoke  until  a  minute  after, 
I  suppose,  when  a  man  slowly  remarked :  "  Some 
call  that  place  Blind  Spring." 

He  was  presently  followed  by  another,  speaking 
equally  slowly:  "I've  heard  it  called  Arapaho 
Spring." 

"Still  Hunt  Spring  is  right."  This  was  a 
heavy,  rosy-faced  man,  of  hearty  and  capable 


162  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

appearance.  His  clothes  were  strong  and  good, 
made  of  whipcord,  but  his  maroon-colored  straw 
hat  so  late  in  the  season  was  the  noticeable  point 
in  his  dress.  His  voice  was  assertive,  having  in 
it  something  of  authority,  if  not  of  menace. 
"  Some  claim  there's  such  a  place,"  he  continued, 
eying  me  steadily  and  curiously,  "  and  some  claim 
there's  not."  (Here  he  made  a  pause.)  "  But  I 
tell  you  there  is." 

He  still  held  his  eye  upon  me  with  no  friendli 
ness.  Were  they  all  merely  playing  on  my  ten 
derfoot  credulity,  or  what  was  it  ?  I  was  framing 
a  retort  when  sounds  of  trouble  came  from  outside. 

"Man  down  in  the  corral,"  exclaimed  some 
body.  "  It's  that  wild  horse." 

Scipio  met  us,  running.  "  No  doctor  here  ? " 
he  panted.  "  McDonough  has  bruck  his  leg, 
looks  like." 

But  the  doctor  was  seventy-five  miles  away  — 
like  the  post-office. 

"Who's  McDonough?"  inquired  the  rosy-faced 
man  with  the  straw  hat. 

A  young  fellow  from  Colorado,  they  told  him, 
a  new  settler  on  Wind  River  this  summer.  He 
had  taken  up  a  ranch  on  North  Fork  and  built 
him  a  cabin.  Hard  luck  if  he  had  broken  his 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  163 

leg ;  he  had  a  bunch  of  horses ;  was  going  to 
raise  horses ;  he  had  good  horses.  Hard  luck ! 

We  found  young  McDonough  lying  in  the 
corral,  propped  against  a  neighbor's  kindly  knee. 
The  wild  horse  was  snorting  and  showing  us  red 
nostrils  and  white  eyes  in  a  far  corner;  he  had 
reared  and  fallen  backward  while  being  roped,  and 
the  bars  had  prevented  dodging  in  time.  Dirt 
was  ground  into  McDonough's  flaxen  hair,  the 
skin  was  tight  on  his  cheeks,  and  his  lips  were  as 
white  as  his  large,  thick  nails;  but  he  smiled  at 
us,  and  his  strange  blue  eyes  twinkled  with  the 
full  spark  of  undaunted  humor. 

"Ain't  I  a  son  of  a  —  ?"  he  began,  and 
shook  his  head  over  himself  and  his  clumsiness. 
Further  speech  was  stopped  by  violent  retching, 
and  I  was  enough  of  a  doctor  to  fear  that  this 
augured  a  worse  hurt  than  a  broken  leg.  But  no 
blood  came  up,  and  he  was  soon  talking  to  us 
again,  applying  to  himself  sundry  jocular  epithets 
which  were  very  well  in  that  rough  corral,  but 
must  stay  there. 

He  was  lifted  to  the  only  bed  in  the  cabin,  no 
sound  escaping  him,  though  his  lips  remained 
white,  and  when  he  thought  .himself  unobserved 
he  shut  his  eyes ;  but  kept  them  open  and  twin- 


164  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

kling  at  any  one's  approach.  They  were  strange, 
perplexed  eyes,  evidently  large,  but  deep-set,  their 
lids  screwed  together ;  later  that  evening  I  noticed 
that  he  held  his  playing-cards  close  to  them,  and 
slightly  to  one  side.  Scipio  called  him  "skew 
bald,"  but  I  could  see  no  such  defect.  He  was 
not  injured  internally,  it  proved  later,  but  his 
right  leg  was  broken  above  the  ankle.  We  had  to 
cut  his  boot  off,  so  swollen  already  was  the  limb. 
The  heavy  man  with  the  straw  hat  advised  getting 
him  to  the  hospital  at  the  post  without  delay, 
and  regretted  he  himself  had  not  come  up  the  river 
in  his  wagon ;  he  could  have  given  the  patient  a 
lift.  With  this  he  departed  upon  a  tall  roan  horse, 
with  an  air  about  him  of  business  and  dispatch 
uncommon  in  these  parts.  Wind  River  horsemen 
mostly  looked  and  acted  as  if  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  being  behind  time,  there  being  no  such 
thing  as  time. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  I  asked,  looking  after  the  broad 
back  of  whipcord  and  the  unseasonable  straw 
hat. 

All  were  surprised.  What?  Not  know  Lem 
Speed  ?  Biggest  cattleman  in  the  country. 
Store  and  a  bank  in  Lander.  House  in  Salt 
Lake.  Wife  in  Los  Angeles.  Son  at  Yale. 


THE   GIFT  HORSE  165 

"Up  here  looking  after  his  interests?"  I  pur 
sued. 

"  Up  here  looking  after  his  interests."  My 
exact  words  were  repeated  in  that  particular  tone 
which  showed  I  was  again  left  out  of  something. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  my  questions  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  our  answers  ?  "  said  a 
man.  Truly,  mine  had  been  a  tenderfoot  speech, 
and  I  sat  silent. 

McDonough's  white  lips  regained  no  color  that 
night,  and  the  skin  drew  tighter  over  the  bones 
of  his  face  as  the  hours  wore  on.  He  was  proof 
against  complaining,  but  no  stoic  endurance 
could  hide  such  pain  as  he  was  in.  Beneath  the 
sunburn  on  his  thick  hand  the  flesh  was  blanched, 
yet  never  did  he  once  ask  if  the  hay  wagon  was 
not  come  for  him.  They  had  expected  to  get 
him  off  in  it  by  seven,  but  it  did  not  arrive  until 
ten  minutes  before  midnight;  they  had  found  it 
fifteen  miles  up  the  river,  instead  of  two.  Sitting 
up,  twisted  uncomfortably,  he  played  cards  until 
one  of  the  company,  with  that  lovable  tact  of  the 
frontier,  took  the  cards  from  him,  remarking, 
"  You'll  lose  all  you've  got,"  and,  with  his  con 
sent,  played  his  hand  and  made  bets  for  him. 


i66  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

McDonough  then  sank  flat,  watching  the  game 
with  his  perplexed,  half-shut  eyes. 

What  I  could  do  for  him  I  did ;  it  was  but  little. 
Finding  his  leg  burning  and  his  hand  cold,  I  got 
my  brandy  —  their  whiskey  was  too  doubtful  — 
and  laid  wet  rags  on  the  leg,  keeping  them  wet. 
He  accepted  my  offices  and  my  brandy  without  a 
sign ;  this  was  like  most  of  them,  and  did  not 
mean  that  he  was  not  grateful,  but  only  that  he 
knew  no  way  to  say  so.  Laudanum  alone  among 
my  few  drugs  seemed  applicable,  and  he  took 
twenty  drops  with  dumb  acquiescence,  but  it 
brought  him  neither  sleep  nor  doze.  More  I  was 
afraid  in  my  ignorance  to  give  him,  and  so  he 
bore,  unpalliated,  what  must  have  become  well- 
nigh  agony  by  midnight,  when  we  lifted  him  into 
the  wagon.  So  useless  had  I  been,  and  his 
screwed-up  eyes,  with  their  valiant  sparkle,  and 
his  stoic  restraint,  made  me  feel  so  sorry  for  him, 
that  while  they  were  making  his  travelling  bed  as 
soft  as  they  could  I  scrawled  a  message  to  the 
army  surgeon  at  the  Post.  "  Do  everything  you 
can  for  him,"  I  wrote,  "  and  as  I  doubt  if  he  has  five 
dollars  to  his  name,  hold  me  responsible."  This 
I  gave  McDonough  without  telling  him  its  con 
tents.  Off  they  drove  him  in  the  cold,  mute 


THE   GIFT  HORSE  167 

night ;  I  could  hear  the  heavy  jolts  of  the  wagon 
a  long  way.  Six  rocky  fords  lay  between  here 
and  Washakie,  and  Scipio  thus  summed  up  the 
seventy-five  miles  the  patient  had  before  him : 
"  I  don't  expect  he'll  improve  any  on  the 
road." 

In  new  camps  among  other  mountains  I  now 
tried  my  luck  through  deeper  snow,  thicker  ice, 
and  colder  days,  coming  out  at  length  lean  and 
limber,  and  ravenous  for  every  good  that  flesh  is 
heir  to,  yet  reluctant  to  turn  eastward  to  that  city 
life  which  would  unfailingly  tarnish  the  bright, 
hard  steel  of  health.  Of  Still  Hunt  Spring  I 
spoke  no  more,  but  thought  often,  and  with  un- 
discouraged  plans  to  visit  it.  I  mentioned  it 
but  once  again.  Old  Washakie,  chief  of  the 
Shoshone  tribe,  did  me  the  honor  to  dine  with 
me  at  the  military  post  which  bore  his  name. 
Words  cannot  describe  the  face  and  presence 
of  that  old  man ;  ragged  clothes  abated  noth 
ing  of  his  dignity.  A  past  like  the  world's 
beginning  looked  from  his  eyes;  his  jaw  and  long 
white  hair  made  you  silent  as  tall  mountains  make 
you  silent.  After  we  had  dined  and  I  had  made 
him  presents,  he  drew  pictures  in  the  sand  for  me 
with  his  finger.  Not  as  I  expected,  almost  to  my 


i68  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

disappointment,  this  Indian  betrayed  no  mystery 
concerning  the  object  of  my  quest. 

"  He  !  "  he  said  (it  was  like  a  shrug).  "  No  hard 
find.  You  want  see  him?  Water  pretty  good, 
yes.  Trees  heap  big.  You  make  ranch  maybe  ?  " 

When  he  heard  my  desire  was  merely  to  see  Still 
Hunt  Spring,  I  am  not  certain  he  understood  me,  or 
if  so,  believed  me.  "  He ! "  he  exclaimed  again,  and 
laughed  because  I  laughed.  "  You  go  this  way," 
he  said,  beginning  to  trace  a  groove  in  the  sand. 
uSo."  He  laid  a  match  here  and  there  and 
pinched  up  little  hillocks,  and  presently  he  had  it 
all  set  forth.  I  tore  off  a  piece  of  wrapping-paper 
from  the  stove  and  copied  the  map  carefully,  with 
his  comments.  The  place  was  less  distant  than 
I  had  thought.  I  thanked  him,  spoke  of  returning 
"after  one  snow"  to  see  him  and  Still  Hunt 
Spring.  "  He  !  "  he  shrugged.  Then  he  mounted 
his  pony,  and  rode  off  without  any  "good-by," 
Indian  fashion.  I  counted  it  a  treasure  I  had  got 
from  him. 

McDonough's  leg  had  knit  well,  and  I  met 
him  on  crutches  crossing  the  parade  ground. 
He  was  discharged  from  hospital,  and  (I  will  not 
deny  it)  his  mere  nod  of  greeting  seemed  some 
what  too  scant  acknowledgment  of  the  good  will 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  169 

I  had  certainly  tried  to  show  him.  Yet  his  smile 
was  very  pleasant,  and  while  I  noted  his  face,  no 
longer  embrowned  with  sun  and  riding,  but  pale 
from  confinement,  I  noted  also  the  unsubdued 
twinkle  in  his  perplexed  eyes.  After  all,  why 
should  I  need  thanks  ?  As  he  hobbled  away 
with  his  yellow  hair  sticking  out  in  a  cowlick 
under  his  hat  behind,  I  smiled  at  my  own  small- 
ness,  and  wished  him  good  luck  heartily. 

The  doctor,  whose  hospitable  acquaintance  I 
had  made  on  first  coming  through  the  Post  this 
year,  would  not  listen  to  my  paying  him  anything 
for  his  services  to  McDonough.  Army  surgeons 
were  expected,  he  said,  to  render  what  aid  they 
could  to  civilians,  as  well  as  to  soldiers,  in  the 
hospital ;  he  good-humoredly  forbade  all  the  re 
monstrance  I  attempted.  When  civilians  could 
pay  him  themselves,  he  let  them  do  so  according 
to  their  means ;  it  was  just  as  well  that  the  sur 
rounding  country  should  not  grow  accustomed  to 
treating  "  Uncle  Sam "  as  a  purely  charitable 
institution.  McDonough  had  offered  to  pay, 
when  he  could,  what  he  could  afford.  The  doc 
tor  had  thought  it  due  to  me  to  let  him  know  the 
contents  of  my  note,  and  that  no  such  arrange 
ment  could  be  allowed. 


I7o  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  And  what  said  he  to  that?  "  I  asked. 

"  Nothing,  as  usual." 

"  Disgusted,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  His  myopic  eyes  were  just 
as  cheerful  then  as  they  were  the  second  be 
fore  he  fainted  away  under  my  surgical  attentions. 
He  scorned  ether." 

"Poor  fellow!  He's  a  good  fellow!"  I  ex 
claimed. 

"  M'm,"  went  the  doctor,  doubtfully. 

"  Know  anything  against  him  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Know  his  kind.  All  the  way  from  Assini- 
boine  to  Lowell  Barracks." 

"  It  has  made  you  hard  to  please,"  I  declared. 

"  M'm,"  went  the  doctor  again. 

"  Think  he'll  not  pay  you  ?  " 

"  May.     May  not." 

"  Well,  good-by,  Cynic." 

"  Good-by,  Tenderfoot." 

The  next  morning,  had  there  been  time  to 
catch  the  doctor,  I  could  have  proved  to  him 
that  he  was  hard  to  please.  At  the  moment  of 
my  stepping  into  the  early  stage  I  had  a  surprise. 
McDonough  had  been  at  breakfast  at  the  hotel, 
and  had  said  nothing  to  me ;  a  nod  sufficed  him, 
as  usual  —  it  was  as  much  social  intercourse  as 


1 


The  stage  rattled  up  as  I  sat 


^k 


THE  GIFT  HORSE  171 

was  customary  at  breakfast,  or,  indeed,  at  any  of 
the  meals.  The  stage  rattled  up  as  I  sat,  and  I, 
its  only  passenger,  rose  and  spoke  a  farewell 
syllable  to  McDonough,  who  repeated  his  curt 
nod.  My  next  few  minutes  were  spent  in  paying 
the  bill,  seeing  my  baggage  roped  on  behind  the 
stage,  and  in  bidding  Scipio  good-by.  One  foot 
was  up  to  get  into  the  vehicle  when  a  voice 
behind  said,  "  So  you're  going." 

There  was  McDonough,  hobbled  out  after  me 
to  the  fence.  He  stood  awkwardly  at  the  open 
gate,  smiling  his  pleasant  smile.  I  replied  yes, 
and  still  he  stood. 

"  Coming  next  year  ?  " 

Again  I  said  yes,  and  again  he  stood  silent, 
smiling  and  awkward.  Then  it  was  uttered ;  the 
difficult  word  which  shyness  had  choked  :  "  If  you 
come,  you  shall  have  the  best  horse  on  the  river." 

Before  I  could  answer  he  was  hobbling  back  to 
the  hotel.  Thus  from  his  heart  his  untrained 
lips  at  last  had  spoken. 

I  drove  away,  triumphing  over  the  doctor,  and 
in  my  thoughts  my  holiday  passed  in  review,  — 
my  camps,  and  Scipio,  and  Still  Hunt  Spring, 
and  most  of  all  this  fellow  with  his  broken  leg 
and  perplexed  eyes. 


172  MEMBERS  OF   THE   FAMILY 

At  Lander,  they  said,  had  I  come  two  days 
earlier,  I  should  have  had  the  company  of  Lem 
Speed.  So  he  and  his  maroon  straw  hat  came 
into  my  thoughts  too.  He  had  started  for  Cali 
fornia,  I  heard  from  the  driver,  whose  society  I 
sought  on  the  box.  He  assured  me  that  Lem 
Speed  was  rich,  but  that  I  carried  better  whiskey. 
Trouble  was  "  due"  in  this  country,  he  said  (after 
more  of  my  whiskey),  "pretty  near"  the  sort  of 
trouble  they  were  having  on  Powder  River.  For 
his  part  he  did  not  wonder  that  poor  men  got 
tired  of  rich  men  ;  not  that  he  objected  to  riches, 
but  only  to  hogs.  He  had  nothing  against  Lem 
Speed.  Temptation  to  steal  stock  had  never 
come  his  way,  but  he  could  understand  how  poor 
men  might  get  tired  of  the  big  cattlemen  —  some 
poor  men,  anyhow.  Yes,  trouble  was  "  sure 
due" ;  what  brought  Lem  Speed  up  here  so  long 
after  the  beef  round-up  ?  Still,  he  "  guessed  "  he 
hadn't  told  Lem  Speed  anything  that  would  hurt 
a  poor  fellow.  Lem  Speed  had  "  claimed "  he 
was  up  here  about  his  bank.  If  so,  why  had  he 
gone  up  Wind  River,  and  all  around  Big  Muddy, 
and  over  to  the  Embar  ?  The  bank  was  not 
there.  No,  sir ;  the  big  cattlemen  were  going  to 
"  demonstrate  "  over  here  as  they  had  on  the  Dry 


THE   GIFT  HORSE  173 

Cheyenne  and  Box  Elder.  I  perceived  "demon 
stration  "  to  be  the  driver's  word  for  the  sudden 
hanging  of  somebody  without  due  process  of  law, 
and  I  expressed  a  doubt  as  to  its  being  needed 
here ;  I  had  heard  nothing  of  cattle  or  horses 
being  stolen.  This  he  received  in  silence,  pres 
ently  repeating  that  Lem  Speed  hadn't  got  any 
thing  from  him.  We  broke  off  this  subject  for 
mines,  and  after  mines  we  touched  on  topic  after 
topic,  until  I  confided  to  him  the  story  of 
McDonough. 

"  Of  course  I  would  never  accept  the  horse," 
I  finished. 

"Why  not?" 

"Well  — well— it  would  hardly  be  suitable." 

"  Please  yourself,"  said  the  driver,  curtly,  and 
looking  away.  "Such  treatment  would  not  please 
me." 

"  You  mean,  '  never  look  a  gift  horse  in  the 
mouth,'  as  we  say?" 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  said  that."  A  steep 
gulley  in  the  road  obliged  him  to  put  on  the 
break  and  release  it  before  he  continued:  "  I'd  not 
consider  I  had  the  right  to  do  a  man  a  good  turn 
if  I  wasn't  willing  for  him  to  do  me  one." 

"  But  I  really  did  nothing  for  him." 


i74  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Please  yourself.  Maybe  folks  are  different 
East." 

"  Well,"  I  ended,  laughing,  "  I  understand  you, 
and  am  not  the  hopeless  snob  I  sound  like,  and 
I'll  take  his  horse  next  summer  if  you  will  take 
a  drink  now." 

We  finished  our  journey  in  amity. 

The  intervening  months,  whatever  drafts  they 
made  upon  my  Rocky  Mountain  health,  weak 
ened  my  designs  not  a  whit ;  late  June  found  me 
again  in  the  stagecoach,  taking  with  eagerness 
that  drive  of  thirty-two  jolting  hours.  Roped 
behind  were  my  camp  belongings,  and  treasured 
in  my  pocket  was  Chief  Washakie's  trail  to  Still 
Hunt  Spring.  My  friend,  the  driver,  was  on  the 
down  stage ;  and  so,  to  my  regret,  we  could  not 
resume  our  talk  wrhere  we  had  left  it;  but  I  again 
encountered  at  once  that  atmosphere  of  hinted 
doings  and  misdoings  which  had  encompassed 
me  as  I  went  out  of  the  country.  At  the  station 
called  Crook's  Gap  I  came  upon  new  rumors  of 
Lem  Speed,  and  asked,  had  he  come  about  his 
bank  again? 

"You  and  him  acquainted?"  inquired  a  man 
on  a  horse.  And,  on  my  answering  that  I  was 
not,  he  cursed  Lem  Speed  slow  and  long,  looking 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  175 

about  for  contradiction ;  then,  as  none  present 
took  it  up,  he  rode  sullenly  away,  leaving  silence 
behind  him. 

When  I  alighted  next  afternoon  at  the  Wa- 
shakie  post-trader's  store  and  walked  back  to  the 
private  office  of  the  building  whither  I  was  wont 
always  to  repair,  what  I  saw  in  that  private  room, 
through  a  sort  of  lattice  which  screened  it  off 
from  the  general  public,  was  a  close-drawn  knot 
of  men  round  a  table,  and  on  a  chair  a  maroon- 
colored  straw  hat !  Rather  hastily  the  post-trader 
came  out,  and,  shaking  my  hand  warmly,  drew  me 
away  from  the  lattice.  After  a  few  cordial  ques 
tions  he  said :  "  Come  back  this  evening." 

"  Does  he  never  get  a  new  hat  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Hat  ?  Who  ?  What  ?  Oh ;  yes,  to  be  sure !  " 
laughed  the  post-trader.  "  I'll  tell  him  he  ought 
to." 

I  sought  out  the  doctor,  soon  learning  from 
him  that  McDonough  had  paid  him  for  his  serv 
ices.  But  this  had  not  softened  his  opinion  of 
the  young  fellow,  though  he  had  heard  nothing 
against  him,  nor  even  any  mention  of  his  name; 
he  repeated  his  formula  that  he  had  known 
McDonough's  kind  all  the  way  from  Assiniboine 
to  Lowell  Barracks,  whereupon  I  again  called 


176  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

him  "  cynic,"  and  he  retorted  with  "  tenderfoot," 
and  thus  amicably  I  left  him  for  my  postponed 
gossip  with  the  post-trader.  Him  I  found  hospit 
able,  but  preoccupied,  holding  a  long  cigar  un- 
lighted  between  his  taciturn  lips.  Each  topic 
that  I  started  soon  died  away:  my  Eastern  news; 
my  summer  plans  to  ramble  with  Scipio  across 
the  Divide  on  Gros  Ventre  and  Snake ;  the  pro 
posed  extension  of  the  Yellowstone  Park  —  every 
thing  failed. 

"  That  was  quite  a  company  you  had  this  after 
noon,"  I  said,  reaching  the  end  of  my  resources. 

"  Yes.  Nice  gentlemen.  Yes."  And  he  rolled 
the  long,  unlighted  cigar  between  his  lips. 

"  Cattlemen,  I  suppose  ? " 

11  Cattlemen.     Yes." 

"  Business  all  right,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Well,  no  worse  than  usual." 

Here  again  we  came  to  an  end,  and  I  rose  to 

go- 

"  Seen  your  friend  McDonough  yet  ?  "  said  he, 
still  sitting. 

"Why,  how  do  you  know  he's  a  friend  of 
mine  ? " 

"  Says  so  every  time  he  comes  into  the  Post." 

"  Well,  the  doctor's  all  wrong  about  him !  "  I 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  177 

exclaimed,  and  gave  my  views.  The  post-trader 
watched  me  in  his  tilted  chair,  with  a  half-whim 
sical  smile,  rolling  his  eternal  cigar,  and  I  finished 
with  the  story  of  the  horse.  Then  the  smile  left 
his  face.  He  got  up  slowly,  and  slowly  took  a 
number  of  turns  round  his  office,  pottered  with 
some  papers  on  his  desk,  and  finally  looked  at  me 
again. 

"  Tell  me  if  he  does,"  he  said. 

"  Offer  the  horse  ?  I  shall  not  remind  him  — 
and  I  should  take  it  only  as  a  loan." 

"You  tell  me  if  he  does,"  repeated  the  post- 
trader,  now  smiling  again,  and  so  we  parted. 

"  I  wonder  what  he  didn't  say? "  I  thought  as 
I  proceeded  to  the  hotel ;  for  he  had  plainly  pon 
dered  some  remarks  and  decided  upon  silence. 
Between  them,  he  and  the  doctor  had  driven  me 
to  a  strong  hope  that  McDonough  would  vindi 
cate  my  opinion  of  him  by  making  good  his  word. 
At  breakfast  next  morning  at  the  hotel  one  of  the 
invariable  characters  at  such  breakfasts,  an  un 
shaven  person  in  tattered  overalls,  with  rope- 
scarred  fists  and  grimy  knuckles,  to  me  unknown, 
asked :  — 

"Figure  on  meeting  your  friend  McDonough?" 

"  Not  if  he  doesn't  figure  on  meeting  me." 


178  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

They  all  took  quiet  turns  at  looking  at  me 
until  some  one  remarked:  — 

"  He  ain't  been  in  town  lately." 

"  I'm  glad  his  leg's  all  right,"  I  said. 

"  Oh,  his  leg's  all  right." 

The  tone  of  this  caused  me  to  look  at  them. 
"  Well,  I  hope  he's  all  all-right ! " 

Not  immediately  came  the  answer :  "  By  latest 
reports  he  was  enjoying  good  health." 

Truly  they  were  a  hopeless  people  to  get  any 
thing  direct  from.  Indirectness  is  by  some 
falsely  supposed  to  be  a  property  of  only  the 
highly  civilized ;  but  these  latter  merely  put  a 
brighter  and  harder  polish  on  it. 

That  afternoon  I  drove  with  my  camp  things 
out  of  town  in  a  "  buggy,"  —  very  different  from 
the  Eastern  vehicle  which  bears  this  name,  —  and 
the  next  afternoon  between  Dinwiddie  and  Red 
Creek,  on  a  waste  stretch  high  above  the  river, 
who  should  join  me  but  McDonough.  He  was 
riding  down  the  mountain  apparently  from  no 
where,  and  my  pleasure  at  seeing  him  was  keen. 
His  words  were  few  and  halting,  as  they  had  been 
the  year  before,  and  in  his  pleasant,  round  face 
the  blue  eyes  twinkled,  screwed  up  and  as  per 
plexed  as  ever.  I  abstained  from  more  than 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  179 

glancing  at  the  fine  sorrel  that  he  rode,  lest  I 
should  seem  to  be  hinting. 

"Water  pretty  low  for  this  season,"  he  said. 

"Was  there  not  much  snow?" 

"  Next  to  none,  and  went  early." 

I  turned  from  my  direct  course  and  camped  at 
his  cabin  on  North  Fork. 

"  What's  your  hurry  ?  "  he  said  next  morning, 
when  I  was  preparing  to  go. 

There  was  no  hurry ;  those  days  had  no  hurry 
in  them,  and  I  bless  their  memory  for  it.  I  sat 
on  a  stump,  smoking  a  "  Missouri  meerschaum," 
and  unfolding  to  him  my  plans.  To  the  geog 
raphy  of  my  route  he  listened  intently  —  very  in 
tently. 

"  So  you're  going  to  keep  over  the  other  side 
the  mountains?  "  he  said. 

"  Even  to  Idaho,"  I  answered,  "  and  home  that 
way." 

"Not  back  this  way?" 

"  Not  this  year." 

He  thought  a  little  while.  «  You're  settled  as 
to  that?" 

"  Quite." 

He  rose,  and  put  some  wood  into  the  stove  in 
his  cabin;  then  he  returned  to  me  where  I  sat  on 


i8o  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

the  stump.  "  Sure  you're  quite  settled  you'll  keep 
on  the  west  side  of  the  Divide  ? " 

"  Goodness !  "  I  laughed,  "  why  should  I  lie  to 
you?" 

Again  he  pondered  in  silence,  and  I  could  not 
imagine  what  he  had  in  his  mind.  What  had  my 
being  east  or  being  west  of  the  mountains  to  do 
with  him  ? 

He  now  jerked  his  head  toward  the  corral. 
"  Like  him  ? "  he  inquired  gruffly.  It  was  the 
sorrel  horse  that  he  meant,  and  I  perceived  that 
it  was  standing  saddled.  I  said  nothing.  The 
fellow's  embarrassment  embarrassed  me.  "  Like 
him  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Looks  good  to  me,"  I  replied,  adopting  his 
gruffness. 

He  rose  and  brought  the  horse  to  me.     "  Get 


on." 


"  Hulloa !     You've  got  my  saddle  on  him." 
"  Get  on.     He  ain't  the  one  that  bruck  my  leg." 
I  obeyed.     Thus  was  the  gift  offered  and  ac 
cepted.     I  rode  the  horse  down  and  up  the  level 
river  bottom.     "  How  shall   I   get   him    back  to 
you? "  I  asked. 

McDonough's  face  fell.     "  He'll  be  all  right  in 
the  East,"  he  protested. 


THE   GIFT  HORSE  181 

I  smiled.  "No,  my  good  friend.  Not  that. 
Let  me  send  him  back  with  the  outfit." 

We  compromised  on  this,  and  caught  trout  for 
the  rest  of  the  day,  also  shooting  some  young  sage 
chickens.  The  sorrel  proved  a  fine  animal. 
Again  McDonough  delayed  my  departure.  "  I 
can  broil  those  chickens  fine,"  he  said,  "  and  — 
and  you'll  not  be  back  this  way." 

He  would  not  look  at  me  as  he  said  this,  but 
busied  himself  with  the  fire.  He  was  lonely,  and 
liked  my  company,  and  couldn't  say  so.  Dense 
doctor !  I  reflected,  not  to  have  been  warmed  by 
this  nature.  But  later  this  friendless  fellow 
touched  my  heart  more  acutely.  A  fine  thought 
had  come  to  me  during  the  evening :  to  leave  my 
wagon  here,  to  leave  a  note  for  Scipio  at  the 
E-A  outfit,  to  descend  Wind  River  to  the  Sand 
Gulch,  strike  Washakie's  trail  to  the  northeast 
of  Crow  Heart  Butte,  and  on  my  vigorous  sorrel 
find  Still  Hunt  Spring  by  myself.  The  whole 
ride  need  take  but  two  days.  I  think  I  must 
have  swelled  with  pride  at  the  prospect  of  this 
secret  achievement,  to  be  divulged,  when  accom 
plished,  to  the  admiring  dwellers  on  Wind 
River.  But  I  intended  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  divulging  it  to  McDonough  at  once,  and  I 


182  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

forthwith  composed  a  jeering  note  to  Scipio  Le 
Moyne. 

"  Esteemed  friend  "  (this  would  anger  him  im 
mediately);  "come  and  find  me  at  Still  Hunt 
Spring,  if  you  don't  fear  getting  lost.  If  you  do, 
avoid  the  risk,  and  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it 
Friday  evening.  Yours,  Tenderfoot." 

I  pushed  this  over  to  McDonough,  who  was 
practising  various  cuts  with  a  pack  of  cards. 
"  That  will  make  Scipio  jump,"  I  said. 

Somewhat  to  my  disappointment,  it  did  not 
have  this  or  any  effect  upon  McDonough.  He 
held  the  paper  close  to  his  eyes,  shutting  them 
still  more  to  follow  the  writing,  and  handed  it 
back  to  me,  saying  merely,  "  Pretty  good." 

"  I'll  leave  it  over  at  the  E-A  for  him,"  I  ex 
plained.  "  He  thinks  I'm  afraid  to  go  there 
alone." 

"  Yes.  Pretty  good,"  said  McDonough,  as  if  I 
were  venturing  nothing.  Was  all  Wind  River 
going  to  treat  it  as  such  a  trifle?  Or — could  it 
be  that  McDonough  alone  among  white  men  and 
red  hereabouts  knew  nothing  of  the  mystery  and 
menace  by  which  Still  Hunt  Spring  was  encircled  ? 

Next  morning  my  perplexity  was  cleared.  I 
made  an  early  start,  tying  some  food  and  a  kettle 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  183 

and  my  "slicker"  to  the  saddle.  McDonough 
watched  me  curiously. 

"  Leavin'  your  wagon  and  truck  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course.  I'll  be  back  for  it.  I'm 
going  to  the  E-A  now.  Are  you  a  poet  ? "  I 
continued.  "  I've  begun  a  thing."  And  I  handed 
him  some  unfinished  lines,  which  I  had  entitled 
"  At  Gift  Horse  Ranch."  "  You  don't  obiect  to 
that?" 

"  Object  to  what  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  title,  <  At  Gift  Horse  Ranch.' " 

He  took  the  paper  down  from  his  eyes,  and  I 
saw  that  his  face  had  suddenly  turned  scarlet. 
He  stood  blinking  for  a  moment,  and  then  he 
said :  — 

"  I'd  kind  of  like  to  hear  it." 

"  But  that's  all  there  is  to  hear—  so  far  1"  I  ex 
claimed,  feeling  somehow  puzzled. 

He  put  the  verses  close  to  his  eyes  once  more. 
Then  he  held  them  out  to  me,  and  stood  blinking 
in  his  odd,  characteristic  way.  "  Won't  y'u  read 
'em  to  me?  "  he  at  length  managed  to  say.  "I'll 
not  tool  you." 

For  yet  one  moment  more  I  was  dull,  and  did 
not  understand. 

"  I  can't  read,"  he  stated  simply. 


184  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Oh !  "  I  murmured  in  mortification.  And  so 
I  read  the  lines  to  him. 

He  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  scribbled 
envelope  on  which  I  had  pencilled  the  fragment. 
"  May  I  keep  that  ?  " 

"  Wait  till  I  have  it  finished." 

"  I'd  kind  of  like  to  have  the  start  to  keep." 
He  took  it  and  shoved  it  awkwardly  inside  his 
coat.  "  I  can't  read  or  write,"  he  said,  more  at 
his  ease  now  the  truth  was  out.  "  Nobody  ever 
taught  me  nothin'." 

But  I  was  not  at  ease.  "Well,  that  stuff  of 
mine  is  not  worth  reading  !  "  I  said.  Cards  had 
a  meaning  for  him  —  kings,  queens,  ten-spots  — 
these  had  been  the  fellow's  only  books !  He  went 
on,  "  Never  had  any  folks,  y'u  see  —  to  know 
'em,  that  is. — Well,  so-long  till  you're  back." 
He  turned  to  his  cabin,  and  I  touched  my 
horse. 

The  sorrel  had  gone  but  a  few  steps  when  I 
looked  over  my  shoulder,  and  there  stood  the  soli 
tary  figure,  watching  me  from  the  cabin  door. 
Suddenly  it  occurred  to  me  that,  as  he  had  not 
been  able  to  read  my  letter  to  Scipio,  he  knew 
nothing  of  my  project.  This  was  why  he  had 
manifested  no  surprise !  "  Do  you  think,"  I 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  185 

called  back,  laughing,  "  that  your  horse  can  take 
me  to  Still  Hunt  Spring  ?  " 

I  am  now  sure  that  a  flash  of  some  totally  dif 
ferent  expression  crossed  his  face,  but  at  the  time 
I  was  not  sure ;  he  was  instantly  smiling.  "  Take 
y'u  anywhere,"  he  called.  "  Take  y'u  to  Mexico, 
takey'uto  Hell!" 

"  Oh,  not  yet ! "  I  responded,  and  cantered 
away.  So  he  thought  I  would  not  dare  to  go 
alone  to  Still  Hunt  Spring !  Well  and  good ; 
they  should  all  believe  it  by  Friday  evening. 

My  cantering  ceased  soon,  —  it  had  been  for 
dramatic  effect,  —  and  as  I  had  before  me  a  long 
ride,  it  behooved  me  to  walk  the  first  miles.  Yet 
I  was  soon  up  the  easy  ascent  from  North  Fork, 
and  though  my  descent  to  the  main  river  from 
the  dividing  ridge  was  through  precipitous  red 
bluffs,  and  accomplished  with  caution,  I  reached 
the  E-A  ranch  (where  it  used  to  be  twenty-five 
years  ago)  in  less  than  two  hours.  To  leave  my 
note  there  for  Scipio  took  but  a  minute,  and  now 
on  the  level  trail  down  Wind  River  I  made  good 
time,  so  that  before  ten  o'clock  I  had  crossed 
back  over  it  above  the  Blue  Holes,  skirted  by 
where  the  Circle  fence  is  to-day,  crossed  North 
Fork  here,  gone  up  a  gulch,  and  dropped  down 


i86  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

again  upon  Wind  River  below  its  abrupt  bend, 
and  reached  the  desolate  Sand  Gulch.  I  nooned 
at  the  spring  which  lies,  no  bigger  than  a  hat, 
about  seven  miles  up  the  Sand  Gulch  on  its  north 
side.  This  was  the  starting-point  of  the  trail 
that  old  Washakie  had  drawn  for  me;  here  I 
crossed  the  threshold  of  the  mysterious  and  the 
untrodden. 

The  sense  of  this  heightened  the  elation  which 
my  ride  through  the  bracing  hours  of  dawn  had 
brought  me,  and  as  I  turned  out  of  the  Sand 
Gulch  it  was  as  if  some  last  tie  of  restraint  had 
stepped  from  my  spirit,  leaving  it  on  wings  free 
and  rejoicing.  This  gleamy,  unfooted  country 
always  looked  monotonous  from  the  bluffs  of 
Wind  River,  but  I  found  no  tedium  in  it;  its 
delicious  loneliness  was  thrilled  at  each  new  stage 
of  the  trail  by  recognizing  the  successive  signs 
and  landmarks  which  Washakie  had  bidden  me 
look  for.  The  first  was  a  great  dull  red  stone, 
carved  rudely  by  some  ancient  savage  hand  to 
represent  a  tortoise.  Perhaps  in  another  mood, 
the  grim  appearance  of  this  monster  might  have 
seemed  a  symbol  of  menace,  but  when  I  came 
upon  the  stone  just  where  my  map  indicated  that 
it  was  to  be  expected,  I  hailed  it  with  triumph. 


THE   GIFT  HORSE  187 

Nor  did  the  caked  and  naked  earth  of  the  region 
through  which  I  next  traced  my  way  dry  up  my 
ardor.  Gullies  sometimes  hid  all  views  from  me, 
and  again  from  mounds  and  rises  I  could  see  for 
fifty  miles.  Should  this  ever  meet  the  eye  of 
some  reader  familiar  with  Wind  River,  he  will 
know  my  whereabouts  by  learning  that  far  off, 
but  constantly  in  plain  sight  to  my  left,  were 
Black  Mountain  and  Spring  Mountain;  that  I 
must  have  been  headed  toward  a  point  about 
midway  between  where  the  mail  camp  now  is  and 
the  pass  over  to  Embar;  that  I  crossed  Crow 
Creek  and  (I  think)  Dry  Creek,  and  that  I  saw 
both  Steamboat  Butte  and  Tea  Pot  Butte  at  dif 
ferent  points.  Even  to  write  these  names  is  a 
pleasure,  for  I  loved  that  country  so ;  and  some 
times  it  seems  as  if  I  must  go  there  and  smell  the 
sage-brush  again  —  or  die ! 

After  the  tortoise  came  several  guiding  signs : 
a  big  gash  in  the  soil,  cut  by  a  cloud-burst ;  an 
old  corral  where  I  turned  sharp  to  the  left ;  a  pile 
of  white  buffalo  bones  five  miles  onward ;  until  at 
length  I  passed  through  a  belt  of  low  hills,  bare 
and  baked  and  colored,  some  pink,  like  tooth- 
powder,  and  others  magenta,  and  entered  a  more 
level  region  covered  with  sparse  grass  and  sage- 


i88  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

brush.  Great  white  patches  of  alkali,  acres  in 
extent,  lay  upon  this  plain.  There  was  no  water 
(Washakie  had  told  me  there  would  be  none), 
and  the  gleamy  waste  stretched  away  on  all  sides ; 
endlessly  in  front,  and  right  and  left  to  long  lines 
of  distant  mountains,  full  of  light  and  silence. 
Let  the  reader  who  is  susceptible  to  tone  com 
binations  listen  to  the  following  dissonant,  unre 
solved  measures,  played  slowly  over  and  over:  — 
A  A 


V  V 

their  brooding  harmonies  will  picture  or  at  least 
convey  that  landscape  better  than  any  words.  I 
think  it  was  really  a  mournful  landscape,  grand 
and  grave  with  suggestion  of  ages  unknown,  of 
eras  when  the  sea  was  not  where  it  is  now,  and 
animals  never  seen  by  man  wandered  over  the 
half-made  world.  Earth  did  not  seem  one's  own 
here,  but  alien,  but  aloof,  as  if,  through  some  sud 
den  translation,  one  had  lit  upon  another  planet, 
perhaps  a  dying  one.  Yet  during  these  hours  of 
nearing  my  goal  no  such  melancholy  fancies  over- 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  189 

took  me ;  I  rode  forward  like  some  explorer,  and 
I  tried  to  complete  the  verses  which  I  had  begun 
at  McDonough's: — 

Would  I  might  prison  in  these  words, 
And  so  keep  with  me  all  the  year 

Some  inch  of  this  bright  wilderness 
Of  freedom  that  I  move  in  here. 

But  nothing  resulted  from  it,  unless  a  surpris 
ingly  swift  flight  of  time.  I  was  aware  all  at 
once  that  day  was  gone,  that  the  rose  and  saffron 
heavens  would  soon  be  a  field  of  stars.  I  had 
matched  one  by  one  the  signs  on  my  map  with 
the  realities  around  me,  and  now  had  reached 
the  map's  last  word ;  I  was  to  stop  when  I  found 
myself  on  a  line  between  a  hollow  dip  in  the 
mountains  to  the  left  and  a  circular  patch  of  forest 
high  up  on  those  to  the  right.  On  this  line  I 
was  to  travel  to  the  right  "  a  little  way,"  said 
Washakie.  This  I  began  to  do,  wondering  if  the 
twilight  would  last,  and  for  the  first  time  anxious. 
After  "  a  little  way  "  I  found  nothing  new  —  the 
plain,  the  sage-brush,  the  dry  ground  —  no  more ; 
and  again  a  little  further  it  was  the  same,  while 
the  twilight  was  sinking,  and  disquiet  grew  within 
me.  Lost  I  could  not  well  be,  but  I  could  fail ; 
food  would  give  out,  and  before  this  the  sorrel 


igo  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

and  I  must  retrace  our  way  to  water  at  the  Sand 
Gulch,  seven  hours  behind  us.  The  twilight 
deepened.  Had  I  passed  it?  Should  I  ride  in 
a  circle  ?  Rueful  thoughts  of  a  "  dry  camp " 
began  to  assert  themselves,  and  my  demoralized 
hand  grew  doubtful  on  the  reins,  when  I  gradually 
discovered  that  the  sorrel  knew  where  he  was. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  increasing  alertness 
that  passed  through  him. 

As  this  extraordinary  fact  became  a  certainty 
the  chasm  opened  at  my  feet ;  the  sorrel  was  trot 
ting  quickly  along  the  brink  of  Still  Hunt  Spring ! 
In  broad  day  I  should  have  seen  it  a  moment 
sooner,  and  the  suddenness  with  which,  in  the 
semi-obscurity,  it  had  leaped  into  my  view  close 
beside  me  produced  a  startling  effect.  The  suc 
cess  of  my  quest  did  not  bring  the  unmixed  pleas 
ure  that  I  had  looked  for;  the  dying  day,  the 
desolate  shapes  of  the  hills,  the  unbefriending 
hush  of  the  plain,  the  odd  alertness  of  the  sorrel 
—  all  this  for  a  while  flavored  my  triumph  with 
something  akin  to  apprehension,  and  it  seemed  as 
if  the  ravine  beneath  me  had  been  lurking  in  a 
sort  of  ambush  until  I  should  be  fully  within  its 
power.  The  Indian  legend  was  now  easy  to  ac 
count  for;  indeed,  I  have  met  often  enough, 


THE  GIFT  HORSE  191 

among  our  unlettered  and  rustic  white  popula 
tion,  with  minds  that  would  have  believed,  after 
such  a  shock  as  I  had  just  received,  that  they 
had  beheld  the  earth  open  supernaturally.  The 
sorrel's  trot  had  become  a  canter  as  we  continued 
to  skirt  the  brink.  Looking  down  I  discovered 
in  shadowy  form  the  line  of  tall  cottonwoods, 
spindled  from  their  usual  shape  to  the  gaunt 
figures  described  as  being  on  stilts;  then  the 
horse  turned  into  the  entrance.  This  steep  and 
narrow  trail  was  barred  at  a  suitable  place  by  a 
barrier  of  brush,  which  I  replaced  after  passing  it. 
A  haunting  uneasiness  caused  me  to  regret  that 
I  had  not  arrived  in  full  daylight,  but  this  I  pres 
ently  overcame.  Before  we  reached  the  bottom 
I  saw  a  number  of  horses  grazing  down  among 
the  trees,  and  they  set  up  a  great  running  about 
and  kicking  their  heels  at  the  sight  of  a  human 
visitor.  There  must  have  been  twenty  or  thirty. 
Lassitude  and  satisfaction  now  divided  my 
sensations  as  I  made  my  way  to  the  spring,  whose 
cool,  sweet  water  fulfilled  all  expectation.  My 
good  map  served  me  to  the  last ;  with  it  I  lighted 
my  cooking  fire,  addressing  it  aloud  as  I  did  so, 
"  Burn  !  your  work  is  done  !  "  I  needed  no  map 
to  go  back!  I  had  mastered  the  trail!  In  my 


ig2  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

recovered  spirits  I  quite  forgot  how  much  I  owed 
to  the  sorrel.  While  picking  up  dry  sticks  I 
stumbled  upon  what  turned  out  to  be  a  number 
of  branding  irons,  which  were  quite  consistent 
with  the  presence  of  the  horses  and  the  barrier 
at  the  entrance.  Evidently  the  place  sometimes 
served  as  a  natural  pasture  and  corral  for  stock 
gathered  on  the  round-up  and  far  strayed  from 
where  they  belonged.  Perhaps  some  one  was 
camping  here  now.  I  shouted  several  times ;  but 
my  unanswered  voice  merely  made  the  silence 
more  profound,  and  for  a  while  the  influence  of 
the  magic  legend  returned.  With  this  my  fancy 
played  not  unpleasingly  while  the  kettle  —  or 
rather  the  coffee-pot  —  was  boiling.  The  natural 
ness  of  building  a  fire,  of  making  camp,  of  pre 
paring  a  meal,  helped  common  sense  to  drive  out 
and  keep  out  those  featureless  fears  which  had 
assailed  me.  What  stories  could  be  made  about 
this  place  by  a  skilful  writer !  The  lost  traveller 
stumbles  upon  it,  enters,  suspects  himself  to  be 
not  alone,  calls  out,  and  immediately  the  haunted 
walls  close  and  he  is  shut  within  the  bowels  of 
the  earth.  How  release  him  ?  Therein  would 
be  the  story.  Or  —  the  lost  traveller,  well-nigh 
dead  of  thirst,  hastens  to  the  spring  amid  the 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  193 

frolicsome  gambols  of  the  horses.  No  sooner 
has  he  drunk  than  he  becomes  a  horse  himself, 
and  the  others  neigh  loud  greetings  to  a  brother 
victim.  Then  a  giant  red  man  appears  and 
brands  him.  How  release  all  the  horses  from  the 
spell  ? 

As  I  lay  by  my  little  cooking  fire  in  the  warm 
night,  after  some  bacon  and  several  cups  of  good 
tea  made  in  the  coffee-pot,  I  was  too  contented  to 
do  aught  in  the  way  of  exploration,  and  I  con 
tinued  to  recline,  hearing  no  sound  but  the  graz 
ing  horses,  and  seeing  nothing  but  the  nearer 
trees,  the  dark  sides  of  the  valley,  and  the  open 
piece  of  sky  with  its  stars.  My  saddle-blanket 
and  "  slicker  "  served  me  for  what  bed  I  needed, 
the  saddle  with  my  coat  supplied  a  pillow,  and 
the  cups  of  tea  could  not  keep  me  from  immedi 
ate  and  deep  slumber. 

I  opened  my  eyes  in  sunlight,  and  the  first 
object  that  they  rested  upon  was  a  maroon- 
colored  straw  hat.  With  the  mental  confusion 
that  frequently  attends  a  traveller  upon  first  wak 
ing  in  a  new  place,  I  lay  considering  the  hat  and 
wondering  where  I  was,  until  at  a  sound  I  turned 
to  see  the  hat's  owner  stooping  to  the  spring. 
Instantly  Lem  Speed,  cattleman  and  owner  of  a 


I94  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

store  and  bank  in  Lander,  a  house  in  Salt  Lake, 
a  wife  in  Los  Angeles,  and  a  son  at  Yale,  was 
covering  me  with  a  rifle. 

"  Stay  still,"  was  his  remark. 

Not  a  suspicion  that  it  was  anything  but  a 
joke  entered  my  head.  I  lay  there  and  I  smiled. 
"  I  could  not  hurt  you  if  I  wished  to." 

"  You  will  never  hurt  me  any  more." 

Another  voice  then  added :  "  He  is  not  going 
to  hurt  any  of  us  any  more." 

"Stay  still!"  sharply  reiterated  Lem  Speed, 
for  at  the  second  voice  I  had  half  risen. 

"  For  whom  do  you  take  me  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  For  one  of  the  people  we  want." 

I  continued  to  be  amused.  "  I'll  be  glad  to 
know  what  you  want  me  for.  I'll  be  glad  to 
know  what  damage  I've  done.  I'll  be  happy  to 
make  it  good.  I  came  over  here  last  night  for  — " 

"  Go  on.     What  did  you  come  for  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  Simply  to  see  this  place.  I've 
wanted  to  see  it  for  a  year.  I  wanted  to  see  if  I 
could  find  it  by  myself."  And  I  told  them  who 
I  was  and  where  I  lived. 

"That's  a  good  one,  ain't  it?"  said  a  third 
man  to  Lem  Speed. 

"And  so,"  said  he,  "you,  claiming  you're  an 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  195 

Eastern  tenderfoot,  found  this  place,  first  trip,  all 
by  yourself  across  fifty  miles  of  country  old-timers 
get  lost  in  ?  " 

"  No.     Washakie  gave  me  a  map." 

"  Let's  see  your  map." 

"  I  lighted  my  fire  with  it." 

Somebody  laughed.  There  were  now  five  or 
six  of  them  standing  round  me. 

"  If  some  of  you  gentlemen  will  condescend  to 
tell  me  what  you  think  my  name  is,  and  what 
you  think  I  have  done  — " 

"We  don't  know  what  your  name  is,  and  we 
don't  care.  As  to  what  you've  done,  that's  as 
well  known  to  you  as  it  is  to  us,  and  you've  got 
gall  to  ask,  when  we've  caught  you  right  on  the 
spot,  branding-irons  and  all." 

"Well,  I'm  beginning  to  understand.  You 
think  you've  caught  a  cattle  thief." 

"  Horse  thief,"  corrected  one. 

"  Both,  probably,"  added  another. 

"  I'll  not  ask  you  to  believe  me  any  more,"  I 
now  said.  "  Don't  I  see  the  post-trader  over 
there  among  those  horses  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Very  well,  take  me  to  him  at  Washakie.  He 
has  known  me  for  years.  I  demand  it." 


196  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  We'll  not  take  you  anywhere.  We're  going 
to  leave  you  here." 

And  now  the  truth,  the  appalling,  incredible 
truth,  which  my  brain  had  totally  failed  to  take 
in,  burst  like  a  blast  of  heat  or  ice  over  my  whole 
being,  penetrating  the  innermost  recesses  of  my 
soul  with  a  blinding  glare.  They  intended  to 
put  me  to  death  at  once;  their  minds  were  as 
stone  vaults  closed  against  all  explanation.  Here 
in  this  hidden  crack  of  the  wilderness  my  body 
would  be  left  hanging,  and  far  away  my  family 
and  friends  would  never  know  by  what  hideous 
outrage  I  had  perished.  Slowly  they  would  be 
come  anxious  at  getting  no  news  of  me ;  there 
would  be  an  inquiry,  a  mystery,  then  sorrow,  and 
finally  acceptance  of  my  unknown  fate.  Broken 
visions  of  home,  incongruous  minglings  of  loved 
faces  and  commonplace  objects,  like  my  room 
with  its  table  and  chairs,  rushed  upon  me.  Had 
I  not  been  seated,  I  must  have  fallen  at  the  first 
shock  of  this  stroke.  They  stood  watching  me. 

"  But,"  I  began,  feeling  that  my  very  appear 
ance  was  telling  against  me,  while  my  own  voice 
sounded  guilty  to  my  ears,  "  but  it's  not  true." 

"  What's  the  use  in  him  talking  any  more  to 
us  ? "  said  a  man  to  Lem  Speed. 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  197 

Lem  Speed  addressed  me.  "  You  claim  this : 
you're  an  Eastern  traveller.  You  come  here  — 
out  of  curiosity.  You  risk  getting  lost  in  the 
hardest  country  around  here  —  out  of  curiosity. 
But  you  come  all  straight  because  an  Indian's  map 
guides  you,  only  you've  burnt  it.  And  you're  a 
stranger,  ignorant  that  this  is  a  cache  for  rustlers. 
That's  what  you  claim.  It  don't  sound  like 
much  against  these  facts :  last  year  you  and  an 
other  man  that's  wanted  in  several  places  and 
that  we're  after  now  —  you  and  him  was  known 
to  be  thick.  You  offered  to  pay  his  doctor's  bill. 
You  come  back  to  the  country  where  he's  been 
operating  right  along,  and  first  thing  you  do  you 
come  over  to  this  cache  when  he's  got  stolen 
horses  right  in  it,  and  you  ride  a  stolen  horse 
that's  known  to  have  been  in  his  possession,  and 
that's  got  on  it  now  the  brand  of  the  outfit  this 
gentleman  here  represents  —  all  out  of  curiosity." 

"  We've  just  found  six  more  of  our  stock 
in  here,"  said  the  gentleman  indicated  by 
Speed. 

I  repeated  my  story  in  a  raised  voice  —  I 
had  not  yet  had  time  to  regain  composure. 
I  accounted  for  each  of  my  movements  from 
the  beginning  until  now,  vehemently  reassert- 


198  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

ing  my  ignorance  and  innocence.  But  I  saw 
that  they  were  not  even  attending  to  me  any 
longer;  they  looked  at  me  only  now  and  then, 
they  spoke  low  to  each  other,  pointing  to  the 
other  end  of  the  valley,  and  turned,  while  I 
was  still  talking,  to  receive  the  report  of  another 
man,  who  came  from  among  the  stolen  horses. 
Then  I  fell  silent.  I  sat  by  my  saddle,  lock 
ing  my  hands  round  my  knees,  and  turning 
my  eyes  first  upon  the  men,  and  then  upon  the 
whole  place.  A  strange  crystal  desolation  de 
scended  upon  me,  quiet  and  cold.  The  early 
sunlight  showed  every  object  in  an  extraordinary 
and  delicate  distinctness;  the  stones  high  up 
the  sides  of  the  valley,  the  separate  leaves  on 
the  small  high  branches  of  the  cottonwoods; 
the  interstices  on  the  bark  on  lower  trunks 
some  distance  away;  the  fine  sand  and  grass 
of  the  valley's  level  bottom,  with  little  wild 
rose  bushes  here  and  there;  all  these  things  I 
noticed,  and  more,  and  then  my  eyes  came 
back  to  my  little  dead  fire,  and  the  blackened 
coffee-pot  in  which  I  had  made  the  tea.  "  Your 
friend  McDonough,"  they  had  said  to  me  at 
Washakie,  and  I  had  wondered  what  was  be 
hind  their  reticence  when  I  inquired  about  him. 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  199 

They  were  always  ready,  I  bitterly  reflected,  to 
feed  lies  to  a  tenderfoot,  but  a  syllable  of  truth 
about  McDonough's  suspected  dishonesty,  which 
would  have  saved  me  from  this,  they  were  unwill 
ing  to  speak.  It  was  natural,  of  course;  every 
thing  was  natural.  I  saw  also  why  McDonough 
had  been  so  precise  in  asking  which  way  I  ex 
pected  to  travel.  Over  on  Snake  River,  and  in 
Idaho,  the  sorrel  was  in  no  danger  of  identifica 
tion,  and  therefore  I  should  be  safe.  But  even 
with  the  whole  chain  of  evidence:  the  doctor's 
bill,  the  corral,  my  unlucky  tale  of  a  map  which 
I  could  not  prove,  and  the  branding-irons  with 
which  they  believed  I  was  going  to  alter  the 
legitimate  brands  —  what  right  had  they  to  deny 
me  the  chance  I  asked  ? 

The  last  two  of  them  now  came  from  the 
horses  to  make  their  report :  "  Five  brands. 
Thirty-two  head.  N  lazy  Y,  Bar  Circle  Zee, 
Goose  Egg,  Pitch  Fork,  Seventy-Six,  and  V  R." 

"  Not  one  of  you,"  I  broke  out,  "  knows  a  word 
against  me,  except  some  appearances  which  the 
post-trader  will  set  right  in  one  minute.  I  de 
mand  to  be  taken  to  him." 

"  Ain't  we  better  be  getting  along,  Lem  ? "  said 
one. 


200  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

"  Most  eight  o'clock,"  said  another,  looking  at 
his  watch. 

"  Stand  up,"  said  Lem  Speed. 

Upon  being  thus  ordered,  like  a  felon,  my 
utterance  was  suddenly  choked,  and  it  was  with 
difficulty  that  I  mastered  the  tears  which  welled 
hotly  to  my  eyes. 

"  Any  message  you  want  to  write  — " 

"  No !  "  I  shouted. 

"  Then  let's  be  getting  along,"  said  the  first 
man. 

"Any  message  I  wrote  you  would  not  deliver; 
it  would  put  a  rope  round  your  neck,  too.  And, 
Mr.  Lem  Speed,  with  your  store,  and  bank,  and 
house,  and  wife,  and  son,  I  hope  you  will  live  to 
see  them  come  to  ruin  and  disgrace." 

I  wish  that  I  had  never  spoken  these  weak, 
discreditable  words  ;  but  he  who  has  not  been 
tested  cannot  know  the  bitterness  of  such  a  test 
as  this. 

A  horse  was  led  to  me,  and  I  got  on  without 
aid,  a  man  on  each  side  of  me.  Memory  after 
this  records  nothing.  We  must  have  been  some 
time  —  I  think  we  walked  —  in  reaching  the  other 
end  of  the  valley,  yet  I  cannot  recall  what  was 
spoken  around  me,  or  whether  or  not  anything 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  201 

was  spoken ;  I  can  recall  only  the  sides  of  the 
valley  passing,  and  the  warmer  sense  of  the  sun 
on  my  shoulders,  and  the  vivid  scent  of  the  sage 
brush.  What  firmness  or  lack  of  firmness  I 
might  have  displayed  at  the  very  end  I  can  never 
know.  Before  we  halted  at  the  fatal  tree  of 
execution,  and  while  my  rage  was  still  sustaining 
me,  a  noise  of  rattling  stones  caused  us  all  to 
look  upward,  and  there,  galloping  down  the 
steep  trail,  wildly  waving  and  shouting  to  us,  was 
Scipio  Le  Moyne.  It  reeled  through  me !  I  was 
saved ! 

He  plunged  into  the  midst  of  us  at  breakneck 
speed,  drew  up  so  short  that  his  horse  slid,  and 
burst  out  furiously  —  not  to  my  captors,  but  to 
me.  "  You  need  a  nurse ! "  he  cried  hoarsely. 
"  Any  travelling  you  do  should  be  in  a  baby  coach." 

Breath  failed  him,  he  sat  in  his  saddle,  bowed 
over  and  panting,  hands  shaking,  face  dripping 
with  sweat,  shirt  drenched,  as  was  his  trembling 
horse.  After  a  minute  he  looked  at  Speed. 
"  So  I'm  in  time,  my  God  !  I've  ridden  all  night. 
I'd  have  been  here  an  hour  sooner  only  I  forgot 
about  the  turn  at  the  corral.  Here.  That's  the 
way  I  knowed  it." 

He  handed  over  my  letter,  left  for  him  at  the 


202  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

E-A  ranch.  This,  with  a  few  words  from  him, 
cleared  me.  All  that  I  had  declared  was  verified ; 
they  saw  what  they  had  been  about  to  do. 

"  Well,  now,  well !  "  exclaimed  one,  grinning. 

"  To  think  of  us  getting  fooled  that  way ! " 
another  remarked,  grinning. 

"  But  it's  all  right  now,"  said  a  third,  grinning. 

"  That's  so  !  "  a  fourth  agreed.  "  No  harm  done. 
But  we  had  a  close  shave,  didn't  we  ? "  And  he 
grinned  too. 

Lem  Speed  approached  me.  "  No  hard  feel 
ings,"  he  said  jocularly,  and  he  held  out  his  hand. 

But  is  it  a  true  joke  —  this  American  attempt 
at  shirking  responsibility  under  a  bluff  of  face- 
tiousness  ?  It  masquerades  as  humor  every  day 
—  a  pretty  mongrel  humor,  more  like  true  cow 
ardice. 

I  turned  to  Scipio.  u  Tell  this  man  that  any 
thing  he  wishes  to  say  to  me  he  will  say  through 
you." 

Speed  flushed  darkly.  Had  he  kept  his  temper, 
he  could  easily  have  turned  my  speech  to  ridicule. 
But  such  a  manner  of  meeting  him  was  novel  to 
a  man  used  to  having  his  own  brutal  way  wher 
ever  he  went,  and  he  was  disconcerted.  He 
spoke  loudly  and  with  bluster :  — 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  203 

"  You  said  some  things  about  my  wife  and  son 
that  don't  go  now." 

This  delivered  him  into  my  hands.  Again  I 
addressed  Scipio.  "  Say  that  I  wish  his  family 
no  further  misfortune  ;  they  have  enough  in  hav 
ing  him  for  husband  and  father." 

I  think  he  would  have  shot  me,  but  the  others 
were  now  laughing.  "  He's  called  the  turn  on 
you,  Lem.  Leave  him  be.  He's  been  annoyed 
some  this  morning." 

They  now  made  ready  to  depart  with  their 
recovered  property. 

"You  and  your  friend  will  come  along  with 
us  ?  "  one  said  to  Scipio. 

"  Thank  you,"  I  answered.  "  I  have  seen  all 
that  I  ever  wish  to  see  of  any  of  you." 

And  then  suddenly  I  folded  over  and  slid  like 
a  sack  of  flour  from  my  horse.  It  had  lasted 
longer  than  my  nerves  were  good  for ;  darkness 
engulfed  me  on  the  ground. 

They  had  disappeared  when  I  waked ;  Scipio 
and  I  were  the  only  human  tenants  of  the  valley. 
He  sat  watching  me,  and  I  nodded  to  him ;  then 
silently  shook  my  head  at  his  question  if  I  wanted 
anything.  I  lay  gazing  at  the  rocks  and  trees,  the 
tall  trees  with  their  leaves  gently  stirring.  It  was 


204  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

a  beautiful,  serene  spot  and  I  regarded  it  with  the 
languid  pleasure  of  a  man  recovering  from  a 
serious  illness.  We  began  to  talk  presently,  and 
I  learned  that  they  had  taken  away  their  stolen 
horses,  except  the  sorrel,  which  had  been  left  at 
my  complete  disposal.  But  from  that  party  I 
would  accept  no  amends  ;  I  would  ride  the  sorrel 
back  to  Wind  River,  and  then  I  would  send  a 
check  to  the  proper  person,  as  if  I  had  hired  the 
horse.  This  intention  I  may  say  at  once  that  I 
duly  carried  out.  Scipio  upbraided  me  with  the 
spirit  I  was  showing ;  they  had  meant  no  harm  to 
me,  he  argued ;  they  were  doing  their  best  now 
—  but  I  turned  upon  him. 

"  Oh,  their  best !  Do  you  think  they'll  not 
break  out  in  a  new  place,  condemn  some  other 
man  who  looks  guilty  to  their  almighty  minds  ? 
I  asked  to  see  the  post-trader.  Don't  forget  that. 
There's  got  to  be  lynching  where  there's  no  law, 
but  — "^ 

To  these  unfinished  words  Scipio  could  find  no 
answer,  but  he  remained  unconvinced,  muttering 
that  "  tenderfeet  shouldn't  monkey  with  this 
country  by  themselves  ;  "  and  in  this  sentiment  I 
heartily  concurred. 

We   spent   the   day  and  night  at  Still    Hunt 


THE   GIFT   HORSE  205 

Spring.  There  was  nothing  to  call  us  away,  and 
I  found  my  physical  powers  more  inclined  to  rest 
than  to  a  long  ride.  Scipio  dried  out  his  clothes 
beside  the  spring,  and  refreshed  his  lank  body 
from  the  perspiration  and  dust  which  had  covered 
it.  He  narrated  how  it  had  been  whispered  that 
the  cattlemen  were  on  the  eve  of  "  demonstrat 
ing";  how  McDonough's  practices  and  associ 
ates  had  been  gradually  ascertained ;  how  it  was 
known  that  Still  Hunt  Spring  had  become  a 
hiding-place  for  stolen  stock.  Therefore  my 
bragging  letter,  written  in  a  spirit  so  light,  had 
given  him  what  he  described  as  "  considerable  of 
a  jolt."  He  had  not  found  it  until  evening,  and 
had  instantly  galloped  forth  into  the  dark,  not 
knowing  what  he  might  find  at  Still  Hunt  Spring. 

"  Then  McDonough  is  a  thief,"  I  sighed. 

"  Oh,  he's  a  thief  all  right,"  said  Scipio,  easily. 

But  it  made  me  very  sad.  I  closed  my  eyes 
and  could  see  McDonough  as  he  stood  by  my 
horse,  embarrassed,  reaching  out  his  hand  for  that 
envelope  with  my  verses  on  it. 

I  slept  more  soundly  and  longer  even  than  on 
the  preceding  night.  Scipio,  after  his  hard  ride, 
slept  like  me ;  we  did  not  wake  until  the  sun  was 
high  and  warm.  After  breakfast  —  it  was  the 


206  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

last  morsel  we  had  between  us  —  I  took  a  final 
drink  at  the  gentle  and  lovely  pool  where  I  had 
undergone  such  terrible  emotions,  and  we  rode 
slowly  and  silently  down  the  long  line  of  trees 
toward  the  exit  of  the  valley.  Suddenly  the  sor 
rel  jerked  his  head  up,  stopped  stiff  with  a  snort, 
and  began  to  tremble.  Ahead  of  us  there,  from 
the  branch  destined  for  me,  hung  a  dead  man, 
McDonough.  This  they  had  done  while  we  over 
slept  by  the  spring  at  the  upper  end  of  the  valley. 
They  had  surprised  him  coming  to  his  cacJte. 

Scipio  and  I  sat  still  for  a  while.  A  wind  in 
the  branches  now  set  the  body  slightly  swaying  ; 
it  seemed  worse  when  it  moved ;  it  turned  half 
way  round,  and  I  saw  its  eyes.  "  I  think  — 
couldn't  we  bury  it  ?  "  I  said. 

Scipio  shook  his  head.  "  It's  left  there  for 
some  of  his  partners  to  see." 

"  Well  —  I  think  we  might  close  the  eyes." 

"  That's  no  harm,"  said  Scipio,  "  if  you  want." 

"  Yes ;  I  do  want." 

So  we  dismounted.  Yes ;  cards  were  all  Mc 
Donough  knew  how  to  read  ;  no  one  had  ever 
taught  him  anything ;  this  was  his  first  lesson. 

"  There,"  said  Scipio,  "  that  does  look  better." 
Then  we  rode  away  from  Still  Hunt  Spring. 


VI 

EXTRA   DRY 

MILE-HIGH  in  space  circled  a  dark  speck,  a 
Mexican  eagle,  alone  in  the  empty  sky.  He  was 
looking  down  upon  four  hundred  square  miles  of 
Arizona  sand,  called  Repose  Valley.  He  saw 
clots  of  cactus,  thickets  of  mesquite,  stunt  oak 
bush,  and  white  skeletons  of  cattle,  but  not  a  thing 
to  eat.  He  also  saw  Aaron  Tace,  the  shell-game 
man,  in  a  Mexican  hat.  He  saw  also  a  man 
who,  drifting  lately  to  Tucson,  had  said  his  name 
was  Belleville ;  but  somebody  in  Tucson  had  pro 
nounced  this  "  Bellyful "  ;  it  was  then  vain  to  in 
sist  upon  any  other  pronunciation. 

Up  in  the  sky  sailed  the  eagle ;  along  the  desert 
road  Aaron  Tace  was  slowly  riding;  and  on  the 
ground  lay  Bellyful,  near  where  the  road  forked 
to  the  mines.  Aaron  was  going  to  Push  Root. 
In  that  town  a  fiesta  was  being  held;  horses  raced, 
liquors  drunk,  ladies  courted,  cards  dealt,  silver 
and  gold  lost  by  many  and  won  by  few,  all  to  mu 
sic.  Bellyful  was  bound  presently  for  Push  Root, 

207 


208  MEMBERS  OF   THE   FAMILY 

too.  Now  he  lay  off  the  road  under  some  mes- 
quite,  thinking,  while  Aaron  approached.  Made 
of  thorns,  slender  rods,  and  gauze  foliage,  Belly- 
ful's  bushes  cast  little  more  shade  than  mosquito 
nets,  but  they  cast  all  the  shade  there  was.  He 
was  resting  his  starved,  weak  horse,  whose  legs 
must  somehow  walk  the  five  more  miles  to  Push 
Root.  He,  himself,  with  scant  breakfast  inside, 
had  led  the  horse  to  the  thin  shade.  The  poor 
beast  stood  over  him;  now  and  then  Bellyful 
reached  up  and  stroked  its  nose.  At  sunrise  the 
softened  mountains  had  glowed  like  jewels,  or 
ripe  nectarines,  or  wine ;  cooling  shadows  had 
flowed  from  them  upon  the  valley.  Later  morn 
ing  had  changed  these  peaks  to  gray,  hot  teeth, 
and  the  sand  to  a  gray,  hot  floor.  The  horse 
rested,  Aaron  Tace  was  half  a  mile  nearer,  the 
eagle  sailed,  and  Bellyful  lay  thinking  of  his  luck. 
He  had  known  none  in  fifteen  months.  Mis 
fortune  bulged  from  the  seams  of  his  shirt  and 
trousers  and  boots.  Of  his  gold  watch,  his  two 
pins,  his  ring,  his  sundry  small  possessions,  only  his 
gun  remained :  he  could  not  pawn  the  seat  of  life. 
He  had  been  earning  and  spending  easily,  when 
the  first  illness  that  he  had  ever  known  put  him 
to  bed,  and  almost  in  his  grave.  Coming  back  to 


EXTRA   DRY  209 

strength,  he  found  hard  times.  No  one,  no  rail 
road,  ranch,  restaurant,  saloon,  stage  company  — 
nothing  —  had  employment  for  him.  He  had 
sought  it  from  San  Marcial,  over  in  New  Mexico, 
westward  to  Yuma,  hundreds  of  miles.  He  had 
parted  early  with  his  real  name.  On  a  freight  train 
at  Bowie  the  conductor  found  him  stealing  a  ride, 
and  kicked  him  off,  calling  him  a  hobo.  The  epithet 
hurt  worse  than  the  kick.  In  fact,  hiding  on  the 
brake-beam  under  another  car  (for  in  spite  of  the 
conductor  he  carried  out  his  plan  of  riding  free 
to  Willcox)  he  shed  tears,  the  bitter  tears  of  pride 
departing;  he  was  a  hobo.  By  the  time  he 
reached  Willcox,  Belleville  was  his  name.  No 
tramp  should  be  called  what  his  mother  had 
named  him. 

Such  his  life  had  been  ;  dust,  thirst,  hunger, 
repulse  —  and  onward  to  more.  Existence  shook 
her  head  at  him  with  a  changeless  "  No."  Lat 
terly,  in  Tucson,  a  pretty  woman  had  shown  him 
kindness  which  she  should  not,  since  he  was  not 
her  husband  and  she  had  one.  She  fell  in  love 
with  the  April  bloom  of  his  years  and  with  his 
hard  luck — and  this  was  the  single  instance  of 
human  interest  in  him  which  had  touched  his 
life  in  fifteen  months.  It  lay  light  upon  his  rov- 


210  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

ing  conscience,  was  nothing  but  joy  and  pride  to 
him ;  but  his  code  forbade  continued  acceptance 
of  her  money  that  there  seemed  no  chance  to 
repay.  Quitting  Tucson,  he  took  from  her,  as  a 
final  loan,  enough  to  buy  a  wretched  horse,  with 
a  trifle  over.  If  none  in  Push  Root  would  em 
ploy  him,  the  mines  were  left;  if  these  should 
fail,  then  he  would  have  knocked  at  the  door  of 
every  trade  in  Arizona,  except  robbery,  which 
was  undoubtedly  the  territory's  chief  industry. 

Bellyful  slid  down  a  hand  to  his  pocket's 
bottom.  One  by  one  he  fingered  seven  coins 
therein,  his  whole  fortune,  in  fractional  currency 
—  it  summed  up  to  a  dollar  and  four  bits.  He 
drew  out  the  coins  and  attentively  read  their 
dates.  These  he  already  knew.  He  was  not 
thinking  of  the  coins,  but  of  the  Universe,  and 
how  successfully  it  resisted  explanation.  A  voice 
stopped  him ;  Aaron  Tace  was  nearly  opposite 
his  clump  of  mesquite.  The  shell-game  man  was 
talking  to  himself. 

"  Remember,  gentlemen,  the  hand  is  quicker 
than  the  eye."  This  he  said  over  and  over,  while 
his  hands  were  ceaselessly  moving.  Bellyful  rose 
with  astonishment,  and  stared.  Aaron  Tace 
could  easily  have  seen  him,  but  was  too  busy. 


EXTRA   DRY  211 

He  was  making  quick  turns  and  passes,  and  talk 
ing  the  while. 

"  Remember,  gentlemen,  the  hand  is  quicker 
than  the  eye."  Nothing  but  that,  while  his 
hands  paused,  shuffled,  and  paused  again. 

"  Remember,  gentlemen  — "  It  was  like  a 
player  polishing  his  lines.  Aaron  rehearsed  all 
the  tones  that  express  complete  candor  and 
friendly  warning,  with  a  touch  of  "dare  you  to 
try  it ! "  thrown  in.  The  reins  hung  on  the 
horse's  neck.  Fitted  to  the  saddle-horn  (a  very 
neat  piece  of  work)  was  a  smooth,  wooden  tray, 
and  upon  this  three  walnut  shells  in  a  line. 
These  Aaron  Tace  would  shift  from  right  to  left 
and  back,  or  half  back,  exchanging  their  posi 
tions,  sliding  them  among  each  other,  lifting 
them  up  and  setting  them  down  —  a  pretty  thing 
to  see.  Only  one  slip  he  made,  due  to  a  stumble 
of  his  horse.  The  little  pebble,  or  pea,  which  the 
shifted  shells  concealed  by  turns  to  allure  the 
bets  of  onlookers,  rolled  to  the  ground.  Aaron 
sprang  off  limberly,  found  it,  and  was  on  again, 
busily  rehearsing  while  his  horse  walked  onward. 
He  had  now  passed  by,  and  a  rock  hid  him  from 
view;  but  for  a  long  time  still  Bellyful  could 
hear  the  rising  and  falling  cadence  of  his  "  Re- 


212  MEMBERS  OF   THE   FAMILY 

member,  gentlemen,  the  hand  is  quicker  than  the 
eye,"  even  after  the  syllables  ceased  to  be  distin 
guishable.  Thus  Aaron  proceeded  toward  the 
Push  Root  fiesta,  happy  and  busy,  until  his  dis 
tant  cadences  died  away. 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned,"  said  Bellyful. 

For  perhaps  an  hour  he  lay,  looking  upward 
through  the  filmy  mesquite,  himself  a  piece  of 
the  vast  silence.  But  this  new  light  on  the  shell 
game  helped  little  to  render  the  Universe  more 
susceptible  of  explanation.  By  and  by  he  took 
his  slow  way  along  the  road,  and  nothing  living 
was  left  at  the  Forks.  Far  in  the  huge,  blue, 
hot  sky  the  eagle  sailed,  hunting  his  prey. 

Bellyful  found  the  town  of  Push  Root  full  of 
good  nature.  Indeed,  there  was  more  good  na 
ture  than  town ;  it  spilled  over  the  edges  in 
strains  of  music,  strains  of  language,  and  gentle 
men  overcome  in  the  brush.  But  it  was  beyond 
the  livery  stable's  good  nature  to  trust  any  such 
looking  owner  of  any  such  looking  horse ;  Belly 
ful  paid  in  advance.  He  inquired  for  employ 
ment  at  the  stage  office,  the  hardware  store,  the 
other  store,  the  Palace  Hotel,  the  other  hotel,  the 
Can-Can  Restaurant,  the  Fashion  Saloon,  the 


EXTRA   DRY  213 

four  other  saloons,  and  the  three  private  houses. 
These  were  locked  because  their  owners  were 
out,  practising  good  nature.  That  finished  it; 
there  was  no  employment  here.  The  horse  could 
never  make  the  mines  without  two  meals  and  a 
night's  rest  —  paid  for  already.  No  duty  now 
hindered  Bellyful  from  being  good-natured  him 
self.  He  still  had  three  coins  of  slight  impor 
tance  to  do  it  with,  and  his  absent-minded  fingers 
rubbed  them  over  in  his  pocket. 

Push  Root  teemed  with  strangers  from  ranch 
and  mine,  wandering  joyously  between  drinks  in 
search  of  new  games.  Through  the  many  sounds 
Aaron's  voice  held  its  own,  and,  reaching  Belly 
ful,  waked  his  brooding  mind,  which  had  long  for 
gotten  Aaron.  Some  games  he  knew  about,  but 
this  one  had  hitherto  not  been  closely  studied  by 
him.  Was  the  eye  always  slower  than  the  hand  ? 
Practice  makes  perfect,  but  —  ?  With  this 
dawn  of  scientific  doubt  Bellyful  stood  looking  at 
the  cluster  of  patrons  which  screened  Aaron  where 
he  shuffled  his  three  walnut  shells  and  chanted 
his  "  Remember,  gentlemen."  A  disordered- 
looking  patron  now  emerged  from  the  group,  per 
ceived  Bellyful,  lurched  toward  him,  leaned  against 
him  confidingly,  and  remarked  with  tears: — - 


2i4  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Say,  are  you  married  ?  I  am.  Some  people 
are  fools  all  the  time.  I  am.  All  people  are 
fools  some  of  the  time.  I  am.  And  when  I  get 
home  I'll  get  hell."  He  untied  an  old  horse  and 
rode  desolately  out  of  town. 

Through  the  air,  like  a  call,  came  Aaron's 
jaunty  voice.  Bellyful  joined  the  patrons  at  once. 
Aaron  shot  over  him  a  travelled,  measuring  eye, 
of  which  the  not  untravelled  Bellyful  took  prompt 
note.  He  stood  in  the  front  row,  staring  with 
as  simple  an  expression  as  he  could  command, 
slowly  fumbling  the  poor  little  coins  in  his 
pocket.  Soon  the  man  next  him  won  three 
dollars  on  a  dime.  Bellyful  came  near  whistling, 
but  repressed  it  in  order  to  maintain  his  simple 
expression.  Thirty  to  one !  This  game  paid 
thirty  to  one!  And  the  dawn  of  scientific  doubt 
grew  lighter. 

"  Try  yourn."  This  suggestion  somebody  made 
to  a  youth  of  prosperous  appearance,  with  an 
English  neatness,  and  a  cap  and  waistcoat  of  the 
horse-stable  variety. 

"  Thanks,  no,  ye  know.  Seen  it  with  thimbles 
at  home,  ye  know." 

None  present  was  aware  that  this  accent  had 
been  heard  in  no  part  of  the  British  Isles  at  any 


EXTRA   DRY  215 

time.  Yet,  after  a  look  at  him,  Bellyf ul's  scientific 
doubt  dawned  a  trifle  clearer. 

"  Win  three  dollars  ? "  cried  an  astonished 
freighter. 

"  Remember,  gentlemen,  the  hand  is  quicker 
than  the  eye,"  said  Aaron,  instantly. 

He  shuffled  his  shells.  The  freighter's  hairy 
fist  made  a  "  jeans  dive."  This  well-known  reach 
for  money  in  the  "  pants "  is  composed  of  two 
gestures :  the  hand  shoots  down  into  the  pocket, 
while  the  head  tilts  skyward.  It  is  common 
where  hay  grows,  and  often  foretells  that  the 
owner  and  his  money  will  soon  be  parted.  Belly 
ful  now  forgot  all  about  his  empty  stomach.  The 
freighter  touched  a  shell,  put  down  five  cents,  and 
won  a  dollar  and  a  half. 

".Megod!  "  exclaimed  British  Isles.  He  risked 
a  quarter,  and  lost. 

"  Aw,  now!  "  he  lamented.     "  Good-by,  all." 

They  rallied  him,  chaffed  him,  told  him  to  come 
back  and  be  a  man ;  so,  not  to  shame  old  England 
in  a  foreign  country  (as  he  explained),  he  doubled 
his  quarter,  and  lost  again. 

"  Remember,  gentlemen,"  chanted  Aaron,  "  the 
hand  is  quicker  than  the  eye." 

He  shuffled  the  shells  straight  at  the  freighter, 


216  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

as  if  he  were  making  love  to  him.  The  freight 
er's  eyes  bulged;  he  dredged  from  his  pocket  a 
sort  of  bun  of  bills,  greasy  old  rags  pressed  to  a 
lump,  gazed  at  them,  touched  them,  smoothed 
them,  and  at  last,  amid  general  laughter,  shoved 
them  lingeringly  back  into  his  jeans.  But  his  eyes 
seemed  unrestful,  and  he  mopped  his  brow. 

"She's  there!"  bet  British  Isles,  touching  a 
shell. 

"  Take  you,"  said  Aaron. 

British  Isles  put  a  dollar  down.  The  pea  was 
under  the  shell.  Everybody  saw  the  thirty 
dollars  paid  to  British  Isles.  Aaron  shuffled  his 
shells  anew. 

"  She's  there  1 "  thundered  the  freighter.  His 
hand  shot  down,  his  head  tilted  up,  and  out  came 
the  bun  again.  A  neighbor  moved  a  gentle 
elbow  against  the  freighter's  ribs,  and  silently 
indicated  another  shell.  In  his  excitement  Belly 
ful  now  nearly  forgot  to  keep  looking  innocent. 
The  dawn  of  scientific  doubt  showed  signs  of 
sunrise ;  if  this  freighter  should  lose,  all  would  be 
known  to  Bellyful  but  one  last  detail.  If  the 
freighter  should  win  —  why,  then,  a  splendid 
theory  went  up  in  smoke. 

The  neighbor  pushed  a  little  harder  with  his 


EXTRA   DRY 


217 


elbow.  This  time  the  freighter  felt  it.  He 
backed  away  from  the  neighbor  with  glaring 
indignation. 

"  Ho,  no,  young  man ! "  he  exclaimed  loudly. 
"  Keep  your  tips  for  greenhorns  that  ain't  on  to 
this  game."  He  flayed  twenty  dollars  off  his 
bun.  "  She's  under  there,"  he  declared,  tapping 
his  own  shell  again. 

"  Take  you,"  said  Aaron.  He  lifted  the  shell. 
No  pea  was  there  ! 

"  Aw  !  "  commented  British  Isles  sympathetic 
ally.  "  Come  again,  sir.  You'll  be  apt  to  swat 
him  next  time.'1 

But  the  unhappy  freighter  stood  still  in  an  ox- 
like  bewilderment,  turning  large,  rueful  eyes  now 
upon  the  shuffling  shells  and  now  upon  the  neigh 
bor,  whose  lip  curled  with  a  cold,  wise  smile. 

Scientific  doubt  was  rosy  everywhere ;  full 
knowledge  might  break  at  any  minute.  Bellyful 
knew  now  that  the  freighter  was  too  innocent  to 
be  true,  that  he  was  in  it  with  Aaron,  in  it  with 
British  Isles,  that  the  three  of  them  had  a  united 
eye  upon  some  fat  quarry,  and  were  playing  a 
game  to  bag  him.  Who  was  it?  Bellyful  looked 
at  every  man. 

"Are  you  on  yet?"   whispered   the  neighbor, 


218  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

edging  up.  While  the  bets  and  shuffling  went 
on,  he  whispered  wisdom  behind  his  hand  to 
Bellyful.  Aaron  won  steadily  in  a  small  way  till 
a  lull  in  business  came ;  this  he  cured  by  losing 
sixty  well-timed  dollars  to  British  Isles.  Small 
business  picked  up  at  once.  Some  people  are  fools 
all  the  time,  all  people  are  fools  some  of  the  time 
—  but  when  was  the  fat  quarry  coming  ?  Every 
little  while  the  neighbor  dropped  more  expert 
wisdom  into  Bellyful's  ear.  "  A  bad  thing,"  he 
whispered,  "  ever  to  take  your  eye  off  the  shells. 
While  that  hayseed  freighter  was  looking  at  the 
sky,  just  now,  the  shells  had  been  changed  round. 
Hard  to  prove  it,  too,  even  if  you  thought  you 
saw  it.  Best  way  of  all  was,  keep  your  hand  on 
the  shell  you  bet  on.  Don't  let  him  move  it  and 
talk,  for  even  if  the  pea  was  under  it  he  could 
get  it  away.  He'd  never  let  you  win  if  he  didn't 
want  you  to.  Keep  your  hand  on  your  shell." 

"  H'm,"  answered  Bellyful 

"  Here's  the  real  trick,"  continued  the  expert 
neighbor.  "  He  shuffles  till  he  sees  by  your  eye 
you've  spotted  a  shell.  Maybe  he  leads  you  on 
to  spot  a  shell  by  playing  awkward.  And  he 
claps  down  the  shell." 

"  H'm,"  responded  Bellyful  again. 


EXTRA   DRY  219 

"  No.  I  hadn't  finished,"  explained  the  expert. 
"  Of  course  the  pea  is  not  under  that  shell. 
Where  is  it  ?  Nestling  in  his  little  right  finger. 
Some  of  'em  is  both-handed  and  can  work  two 
peas.  So,  when  you  bet,  no  pea  is  under  any 
shell.  You're  bound  to  lose,  see  ?  And  see  how 
he  holds  his  shells  with  them  two  end  fingers 
crooked  in  and  how  he  stoops  over  'em  close  to 
the  edge  of  the  table  now  and  then." 

"  H'm,"  unchangeably  remarked  Bellyful. 

"  Yes,  but  you  ain't  watching,"  complained  the 
expert.  "When  he  scrapes  a  shell  close  to  the 
edge,  that's  when  the  pea's  liable  to  tumble  into 
his  little  finger.  I'm  going  after  him  in  a  min 
ute." 

A  flash  came  into  Bellyful's  eye.  He  turned 
his  head  for  one  look  at  the  expert.  It  satisfied 
him. 

"  I  guess  you're  catching  on  now,"  said  the  ex 
pert.  "  There !  The  pea's  in  his  finger.  Watch 


me." 


Bellyful  watched. 

The  expert  had  gold  pieces,  plenty  of  them,  all 
sizes.  He  put  down  five  dollars.  "  I'll  pick  up," 
he  said,  "  the  two  shells  the  pea's  not  under." 

"  Take  you,"  said  Aaron. 


220  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

The  expert  quickly  picked  up  two  shells.  But 
the  pea  was  under  one  of  them. 

"  You  win,"  said  Aaron  instantly,  and  instantly 
caught  up  all  three  shells  and  shuffled  them. 
One  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  to  the  expert, 
though  he  had  really  lost!  "See  what  that 
means  ? "  he  whispered  to  Bellyful.  "  He  paid 
me  not  to  expose  him." 

"  H'm,"  replied  Bellyful. 

"  Watch  me  again,"  urged  the  expert. 

Indeed,  Bellyful  did.  Scientific  doubt  was 
over ;  the  full  sun  had  risen. 

Once  more  the  shuffled  shells  came  to  rest, 
enticing  bets,  when  violent  voices  arose  off  to 
the  left.  Aaron  quite  —  oh,  quite  !  —  forgot,  and 
looked  away  to  see  what  the  noise  was.  The 
freighter  quickly  lifted  a  shell.  The  pea  was 
there.  He  clapped  the  shell  down. 

"  Put  your  hand  on  that,  young  man,"  he  com 
manded.  "She's  there,"  he  shouted  to  Aaron, 
whose  eye  had  now  come  back.  The  disturbance 
had  been  some  brief  trouble  between  British  Isles 
and  a  man  near  him ;  it  was  quieted.  The 
freighter  bet  the  rest  of  his  money  —  that  large 
bun.  The  expert,  with  his  hand  on  the  shell,  bet 
all  his  gold  —  it  made  several  stacks. 


EXTRA   DRY  221 

*  Take  you,"  said  Aaron. 

The  pea  wasn't  beneath  the  shell ! 

"  Too  bad,  gentlemen,"  said  Aaron,  gathering 
promptly  all  the  money  and  the  shells,  and  shov 
ing  everything  into  his  pockets.  "  Well,  I  told 
you  the  hand  was  quicker  than  the  eye.  Good- 
by !  Better  luck  next  time !  "  He  nodded 
kindly,  and  was  gone. 

The  game  was  done,  the  patrons  dispersed. 
British  Isles  and  the  freighter  no  longer  to  be 
seen,  everybody  melted  away  among  the  wagons, 
the  horses,  the  people,  the  sounds,  the  shows,  the 
music  of  the  general  fiesta.  On  the  deserted  spot 
stood  the  expert  and  Bellyful,  looking  at  each 
other. 

"What  are  you  trembling  about?"  demanded 
the  expert,  sharply. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Bellyful.     He  didn't  know. 

"  Five  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars,"  muttered 
the  expert,  hoarsely.  "  That  freighter  got  the  pea 
out  when  he  scraped  that  shell  down." 

"  They  were,  all  three,  laying  for  you  from  the 
start,"  said  Bellyful.  He  couldu'  t  stop  trembling. 
Perhaps  it  was  want  of  food. 

"  Five  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars,"  wailed 
the  expert. 


222  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

After  that,  he,  too,  melted  away. 

•         •         .         •         •         •         • 

Five  miles  out  of  Push  Root,  where  the  road 
forks  to  the  mines,  nothing  had  changed,  except 
the  name  of  the  day.  Repose  Valley  had  not 
aged  in  twenty-four  hours ;  it  may  be  doubted  if 
Repose  Valley  could  have  looked  older  in  twenty- 
four  million  hours.  Its  sand  was  hot  and  gray, 
its  mountains  were  hot  and  gray,  its  sunlight 
glared  like  a  curse.  No  breeze,  no  water,  no 
shade;  gauze  mesquite,  stiff  cactus,  white  cattle 
bones  —  four  hundred  square  miles  of  this,  quite 
as  usual.  It  might  just  as  well  have  been  yesterday, 
but  for  its  name.  All  the  days  of  the  week  here 
might  have  sat  for  each  other's  photographs. 
Only  the  Creator  could  have  told  them  apart.  Up 
in  the  blue  air  sailed  the  eagle.  Evidently  he 
must  find  meals  in  Repose  Valley,  else  he  wouldn't 
be  here,  sailing  and  watching.  He  saw  the  same 
horse  and  the  same  Bellyful  resting  beneath  the 
same  mesquite.  He  saw  also,  away  off,  the  same 
Aaron  riding  slowly  along  the  road  toward  the 
Forks  —  only,  this  morning,  Aaron  was  coming 
from  Push  Root  instead  of  going  to  it.  This 
proved  it  wasn't  yesterday.  Aaron  had  out  his 
practice-table,  and  his  hands  were  industrious. 


EXTRA   DRY  223 

Again  Bellyful  lay  thinking,  His  horse  was 
better  for  the  hay  arid  corn  and  eighteen  hours  of 
rest ;  but  the  mines  were  further  than  Push  Root, 
and  he  must  get  there,  there  was  nowhere  else 
left  to  get  —  except  out  /  As  he  lay  under  the 
mesquite,  Bellyful  made  one  gesture  —  he  shook 
his  fist  at  the  sky.  They  might  put  him  out,  but 
he  wouldn't  get  out. 

It  might  be  said  that  the  only  difference  be 
tween  the  Bellyful  of  yesterday  and  him  of  to-day 
was  the  difference  of  one  dollar  and  four  bits. 
He  had  nothing  now  in  his  pocket;  those  last 
coins  had  paid  for  what  food  they  could  buy  him. 
But  there  was  another  difference.  It  had  been 
wrought  during  the  night  hours,  wrought  while  he 
lay  in  the  stable,  unable  to  sleep,  possibly  wrought 
also,  even  in  the  sleep  he  at  length  fell  into  just 
before  daylight ;  for,  while  he  slept,  his  heart  went 
on  beating,  of  course,  and  what  was  his  soul 
doing  ? 

After  his  single  gesture  he  lay  under  the  mes 
quite  motionless,  gazing  up  through  the  filmy 
branches,  quiet  as  a  stone,  deep  sunk  in  the  heart 
of  Repose  Valley  silence.  Stretched  so,  still  be 
neath  the  same  mesquite,  he  looked  as  if  he  had 
been  there  since  yesterday,  as  if  in  all  the  to- 


224  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

morrows  he  might  be  there,  keeping  the  cattle 
bones  company.  But  the  whole  boy — every  inch 
of  flesh  and  spirit — was  alive,  very  much  alive, 
not  at  all  in  a  moderate,  everyday  fashion ;  in  fact, 
Bellyful  was  a  powder  magazine,  needing  nothing 
but  a  match.  Existence  had  shaken  her  head  at 
him  once  too  often. 

He  didn't  suspect  his  own  state  until  the  match 
was  applied.  Aaron's  approaching  voice  reached 
him.  Even  the  eagle,  a  mile  up  in  the  air,  stopped 
hunting  to  witness  the  sudden  proceedings. 
Bellyful  leaped  to  his  feet,  looked  at  the  rock 
which  blocked  him  and  his  horse  from  Aaron's 
view,  moved  the  passive  beast  a  few  paces  back, 
looked  at  the  rock  again,  was  satisfied,  ran  like 
wild  game  behind  the  rock,  and  waited.  His 
pistol  was  always  in  excellent  order,  a  clean-pol 
ished,  incongruous  gleam  to  flash  forth  from  such 
a  rusty  scarecrow. 

The  talking  Aaron  came  along,  happy  and 
busy.  His  head  bent  over  his  shuffled  shells ;  the 
rise  and  fall  of  his  cadences  grew  clearer,  the 
sounds  began  to  take  to  themselves  syllables; 
first  "hand"  and  "eye"  came  out  distinct,  then 
the  links  between  filled  in,  and  the  whole  sentence 
rang  perfect  through  the  unstirred  air. 


EXTRA   DRY  225 

"  Remember,  gentlemen,  the  hand  is  quicker 
than  the  eye." 

Such  rehearsals  as  this  must  have  helped  many 
a  monotonous  journey  to  pass  pleasantly  for 
Aaron  —  not  to  speak  of  placing  him  in  the  fore 
most  ranks  of  Art. 

"  Remember,  gentlemen,  the  hand  is  quicker 
than  the  eye." 

"  Not  this  morning." 

The  shells  smashed  in  Aaron's  horrified  grasp. 
The  little  pea  rolled  to  the  ground. 

"  Going  to  the  mines  ?  "  pursued  Bellyful.  All 
his  words  were  sweet  and  dreadful. 

Then  Aaron  saw  behind  the  pistol  who  it  was. 

"  That  kid  a  road-agent !  "  he  thought.  '"  Why 
didn't  I  spot  him  yesterday  ? "  And  he  blamed 
his  own  blindness,  miserably  and  quite  unjustly, 
because  how  could  he  know  that  Bellyful  had  only 
become  a  road-agent  in  the  last  ten  minutes  ? 

"  Strip,"  said  Bellyful. 

Aaron  was  slow  about  it. 

A  flash,  a  smoke,  and  a  hole  through  Aaron's 
Mexican  hat  cleared  every  doubt. 

"You're  mature,  I  see,"  remarked  Aaron,  and 
offered  his  unbuckled  pistol. 

"  The   other  one   now,"   commanded    Bellyful. 


226  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

This  was  a  guess,  but  a  correct  one.  "  Leave 
'em  both  drop  down." 

Both  dropped  down. 

"  Go  on  strippin'." 

The  money  followed,  a  good  deal  of  it,  and 
Aaron  made  a  gesture  of  emptiness. 

"  That  all  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  young  man." 

"  Then  I  want  the  rest  of  it." 

"  You've  got  the  rest.  You've  got  the  whole. 
The  game  ain't  what  it  used  to  be,  and  I  have 
partners;  they  — 

"  I'll  partner  you.    Get  down.    Get  down  quick." 

Evidently  a  compromise  was  the  very  most 
a  poor  shell-game  man  in  this  hapless  crisis 
could  hope  for.  Aaron  got  down  and  addressed 
the  road-agent. 

"  See  here,  beau,"  he  began,  "  you  and  me 
oughtn't  to  be  hostile.  In  our  trade  we  can't 
afford  it.  You  and  me's  brothers." 

"Don't  you  call  me  brother.  I  don't  lie.  I 
say  *  hand  it  over'  and  folks  ain't  deceived.  I'm 
an  outlaw  and,  maybe,  my  life  is  forfeit.  But  you 
pretend  you're  an  honest  man  and  that  your  dirty 
game  is  square.  Throw  it  all  down,  or  I'll  tear  it 
out  of  you." 


W.oj- 


.How  could  he  know  that  Bellyful  had  only  become  a  road-agent  in 
the  last  ten  minutes  ? 


EXTRA   DRY  227 

Aaron  threw  it  all  down.  Then  he  was  al 
lowed  to  go  his  ways,  seeking  more  fools  to 
cheat. 

Up  in  the  air  the  eagle  sailed.  He  was  still 
looking  down  upon  clots  of  cactus,  thickets  of 
mesquite,  and  skeletons  of  cattle.  He  also  saw  a 
horseman  going  slowly  one  way,  and  a  horseman 
going  slowly  the  other.  In  time  many  miles  lay 
between  them,  and  the  forks  of  the  road  were  as 
silent  and  empty  of  motion  as  the  rest  of  Repose 
Valley. 

•        •••••• 

To  me,  listening,  Scipio  Le  Moyne  narrated 
the  foregoing  anecdote  while  he  lay  in  hospital, 
badly  crumpled  up  by  a  bad  horse.  Upon  the 
day  following  I  brought  him  my  written  version. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  musingly,  when  I  had  finished 
reading  it  to  him,  "  that  —  happened  —  eight  — 
years  —  ago.  You've  told  it  about  correct  —  as 
to  facts." 

"What's  wrong,  then?" 

"  Oh  —  I  ain't  competent  to  pass  on  your 
language.  The  facts  are  correct.  What  are 
you  lookin'  at  me  about  ? " 

"Well  — the  ending." 

"Ending?" 


228  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"Well  —  I  don't  like  the  way  Bellyful  just 
went  off  and  prospered  and  —  " 

"  But  he  did." 

"And  never  felt  sorry  or  —  H 

"  But  he  didn't." 

"  Well  —  " 

"  D'you  claim  he'd  oughtn't?  Think  of  him! 
Will  y'u  please  to  think  of  him  after  that  shell 
game  ?  He  begging  honest  work  and  denied  all 
over,  everywhere,  till  his  hat  and  his  clothes  and 
his  boots  were  in  holes,  and  his  body  was  pretty 
near  in  holes  —  think  of  him,  just  a  kind  of  hollo' 
vessel  of  hunger  lying  in  that  stable  while  the 
shell-game  cheat  goes  off  with  his  pockets  full 
of  gold."  Scipio  spoke  with  heat. 

"Yes,  I  know.  But,  if  Bellyful  afterward 
could  only  feel  sorry  and  try  —  " 

"Are  you  figuring  to  fix  that  up?"  —  he  was 
still  hotter  —  "  because  I  forbid  you  to  monkey 
with  the  truth.  Because  I  never  was  sorry." 


"  I  was  Bellyful,"  said  Scipio,  becoming  quiet. 
"  Yes,  that  was  eight  years  ago."  He  mused  still 
more,  his  eyes  grew  wistful.  "  I  was  nineteen 
then.  God,  what  good  times  I  have  had!" 


VII 

WHERE    IT   WAS 

WHEN  Scipio  had  brought  to  an  end  the  edi 
fying  anecdote,  he  lay  in  his  hospital  bed,  silent 
and  a  little  tired  after  so  sustained  a  recital. 

"  Why  not  write,"  I  inquired,  "  a  book,  and  call 
it  Tales  From  My  Past  ?  " 

He  looked  at  me  suspiciously,  but  suspicion 
melted  into  what  immediately  sparkled  in  the 
tones  of  his  reply.  "  In  spite  of  my  ancestors,  I 
don't  know  French." 

For  an  instant  I  was  stupid  —  I  have  many 
such  instants. 

"  You've  often  told  me,"  he  had  to  explain, 
"  that  in  France  y'u  can  print  anything." 

"  Oh,  well ! "  I  laughed,  "  quite  a  number  of 
yours  are  harmless  enough  —  even  for  our  maga 
zines.  This  one  for  instance." 

But  his  thoughts  had  gone  on ;  he  was  gazing 
through  the  open  window  with  a  craving  eye. 
All  out-of-doors  was  his  true  home,  his  hearth 

229 


230  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

and  bed,  his  natural  workshop  and  playground ;  in 
doors  had  been  merely  his  occasional  resort  —  a 
place  where  a  man  went  for  a  brief  visit  when  he 
felt  like  spending  his  money.  "  I'm  goin'  to  get 
well,"  he  said,  still  watching  the  far-off,  golden 
hills.  "  I  am  getting  well.  And  wunst  I'm  on 
my  legs  I'll  start  makin'  a  lot  more  Past." 

"  Do  !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Do.  It  isn't  everybody 
who  can,  even  when  they  try." 

He  grunted.  "  Huh  !  I  ain't  never  tried  much. 
Didn't  have  to.  Things  just  kind  o'  seem  to 
happen  when  I'm  around." 

"  Did  you  lie  just  now?  "  I  asked. 

"  Lie  ?     When  ?  " 

"  Didn't  you  fix  up  the  ending  ?  " 

"  Fix  up  nothin' !  That's  what  them  two  old 
junipers  actually  did." 

"  You'll  remember,"  I  persisted,  "  you  forbade 
me  the  other  day  to  '  monkey  with  the  facts,' 
when  I  told  you  I  didn't  like  the  ending  of  Belly- 
ful's  adventure  in  Repose  Valley." 

"Sure!  Us  Western  men  don't  care  about 
fixed-up  things  when  we  know  how  things  are  — 
when  we've  been  the  things  ourselves.  And  will 
you  tell  me"  —  Scipio  grew  earnest  —  "what's 
the  point  of  a  book  lyin'  about  life  the  way 


WHERE   IT   WAS  231 

more'n  half  of  'em  do  ?  The  way  I  wouldn't  let 
y'u  do  about  Bellyful  ?  " 

"  Oh,  our  sincere  and  pious  public  is  determined 
that  virtue  shall  triumph  in  print,  anyhow  —  and 
that  nothing  naked  is  true  until  draped." 

"  Not  me.  I  don't  want  any  of  them  bib-and- 
tucker-and-safety-pin  stories  they  hand  you  out. 
What  made  y'u  think  I'd  lied  ? " 

"  Well  it  seemed  too  good,  too  virtuous,  too 
right." 

He  grinned,  and  I  perceived  this  to  be  at  my 
expense  —  he  had  caught  me  taking  divergent 
postures  toward  life  and  toward  print. 

"  I  surrender !  "  I  laughed.     "  I'm  a  liar  too  !  " 

His  grin  now  faded.  "  Now  and  then,  y'u 
know,  people  do  act  decent.  I've  met  several  be 
sides  them  two  old  men.  Even  along  the  Rio 
Grande.  Why,  I've  acted  decent  myself  at 
times."  He  seemed  to  review  his  recent  anec 
dote.  "  The  point  was,"  he  said  next,  "  they 
always  thought  they  were  madder  than  they  were. 
Now  Pm  just  the  other  way.  I'm  that  good- 
natured  that  I'm  frequently  madder  than  I  feel  — 
and  it's  the  other  man  finds  that  out!" 

"  Get  out  of  here  ! "  said  the  post  doctor,  enter 
ing.  "  Look  at  your  victim's  eyes  ! " 


232 


MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 


So  I  went  out,  ashamed  of  myself  at  having  led 
poor  ocipio  to  talk  so  much.  I  needn't  change  a 
syllable  of  as  many  as  I  recollect  in  his  anecdote. 
His  impression  of  the  Tbowmet  Valley  as  it  had 
been  in  those  earlier  days  —  before  apples,  before 
the  Great  Northern,  before  anything  —  shall  not 
be  "  fixed  up  "  by  me. 

I'd  been  seein'  a  lot  of  country,  clear  up  from 
Mazatlan  to  the  Big  Bend  —  driftin'  through  Old 
Mexico  and  California  and  Awregon,  and  over 
for  a  little  while  to  Boise,  and  up  through  the 
Palouse  where  the  dust  puffed  up  from  the  ploughs 
and  trailed  like  a  freight-train's  smoke  does  on 
the  Southern  Pacific  for  a  half-hour  after  she's 
went  by;  and  I'd  crossed  the  God-awful  Big 
Bend  —  but  I'll  skip  that  —  and  I'd  crossed  the 
stinkin',  vicious  Columbia  on  a  chain  ferry  —  but 
I'll  skip  that  —  and  I  was  kind  o'  tired.  Didn't 
want  no  mines  either.  There  was  mines  up  there 
and  folks  crowdin'  to  'em,  thick  from  everywheres. 
But  I  was  tired.  Figured  I'd  put  in  the  balance 
of  the  fall  —  and  the  winter,  too,  maybe — in  some 
pleasant  place,  if  they  could  direct  me  to  such  a 
thing.  So  they  told  me  there  was  women  — 
wives,  I  mean  —  and  children  and  homes  and 


WHERE   IT  WAS  233 

neighbors  over  on  the  Thowmet.  So  I  headed  for 
there.  Went  in  with  a  Siwash  over  the  Chillow- 
isp  trail.  Him  and  me  couldn't  talk  much,  but 
we  could  nod  and  point  and  grunt  when  his 
English  and  my  Chinook  gave  out.  He  carried 
the  mail  in  wunst  a  week,  except  when  the  snow 
wouldn't  let  him.  That  proved  to  be  often.  Oh,? 
but  I  liked  the  Thowmet  Valley's  looks  that  first 
sight !  And  it  stayed  pleasant  to  me.  Why  did 
I  leave  it  ?  Don't  know.  Just  got  curious  to  see 
some  more  country. 

There  wasn't  any  homes  to  see  as  the  Injun 
and  me  rode  down  the  hill.  But  trees  that  could 
shade  you,  and  grass  a  horse  could  eat,  and  water 
not  runnin'  like  it  wanted  to  kill  you,  but  friendly 
water.  And  the  mountains  all  around  was  pleas 
ant  too — timber  on  'em.  Snow  not  on  'em  yet, 
except  a  dozen  or  so  high-up,  far-back  patches, 
lyin'  around  white  like  wash-day.  So  we  rode 
along  up  the  valley  and  camped,  and  next  day 
struck  a  cabin,  and  corral  and  haystacks.  Sure 
enough!  Married  man  \vith  wife  and  kids.  Kids 
had  regular  Texas-colored  hair.  But  the  most 
homes  was  farther  up  the  river,  they  said,  near 
the  Forks  and  store ;  and  so  I  went  along  with 
the  Siwash,  who  was  bound  for  the  store  with  his 


234  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

mail-sack.  The  store  was  the  post-office,  of  course 
—  Beekman  was  its  name.  We  passed  by  a  tent 
'side  of  the  road,  and  voices  was  screechin'  inside 
the  tent,  and  the  Siwash  he  started  to  laugh.  So  I 
asked  him  what  he  knowed  about  it.  Let  me  see. 
What  did  he  say?  I  don't  have  use  any  more 
for  the  Chinook  I  learned  up  there.  Oh,  yes ! 
He  said :  — 

"  Klaska  tenas  man,  klaska  hyas  pilton? 

So  I  didn't  know  what  that  meant,  and  there 
wasn't  much  good  mentioning  this  to  him ;  but  I 
didn't  have  to,  for  they  came  a-rushin'  out  of  the 
tent,  no  hats  on. 

"  How  does  a  coyote  walk  ?  "  screeched  out  the 
littlest  one,  aimin'  his  finger  at  me. 

Well,  I  felt  huffy  —  never'd  saw  him  before  or 
his  partner  neither  —  didn't  catch  the  joke  —  but 
he  wasn't  jokin'.  The  big  one  arrives  and  he 
yells :  — 

"  Don't  he  walk  separate  ?  " 

"  He  walks  together,  don't  he  ? "  yells  the 
little  one. 

Little  one  had  scrambled  hair,  white,  and  it 
hadn't  been  cut  lately.  Big  partner  had  left  his 
hair  behind  him  somewheres  along  life's  journey. 
They  was  glarin'  up  at  me  for  an  answer. 


WHERE   IT  WAS  235 

So  I  said  :  "  Tell  me  what  you  mean." 

So  they  did.  They  was  trappers.  One  claimed 
you  could  always  tell  a  coyote's  tracks  by  the  way 
he  put  his  right  foot  and  his  left  foot  down  in 
different  places,  so  you  could  tell  he  was  a  four- 
footed  animal ;  and  the  other  he  said  that  was  the 
way  the  bobcat  and  the  link  and  the  mountain- 
lion  walked.  And  then  the  first  one  he  yelled  out 
that  they  struck  one  foot  right  in  the  other 
foot's  track,  so  it  looked  like  a  two-footed  animal 
had  been  walkin'  there. 

"  That's  all  easy,"  I  said ;  for  I've  trapped  some 
myself. 

So  I  set  'em  straight  as  to  the  facts.  Thing 
was,  they  quieted  down  right  off  and  took  my 
say-so.  But  that  was  their  way,  I  found  —  get 
up  a  regular  state-of-things  that  would  mean 
trouble,  you'd  suppose,  and  drop  it  as  if  nobody 'd 
said  a  word. 

"  Come  and  finish  dinner,"  says  the  little  one 
to  the  big  one. 

"  Dinner  !  "  says  the  big  one.  "  Quit  your 
dining.  You've  eet  enough  to  wake  the  dead." 

So  they  starts  back  to  their  tent  like  twins.  I 
expect  they  were  sixty,  or  seventy,  or  eighty  —  I 
don't  know  how  long  they'd  lasted  in  this  world  — 


236  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

and  one  had  boots,  and  the  other  had  his  feet  tied 
in  gunnysack,  and  both  looked  like  two-bits'  worth 
of  God-help-us. 

But  they  didn't  get  to  their  tent  that  time. 
Down  the  road  comes  a  nice-lookin'  girl  on  a 
calico  horse  with  one  blue  eye  —  the  horse  had  — 
and  the  little  one  he  sees  her  and  he  whirls  around 
and  aims  his  finger  at  her,  same  as  he  done  to 
me. 

"  No,  you  don't !  "  says  he,  loud  up  in  the  air. 
"  I've  told  you  I  won't." 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  speaking  about  it  again," 
says  she,  rather  quiet,  but  smilin.'  "  But  when 
you  find  that  there's  no  coal  really  there  —  " 

Well,  what  d'y'u  think?  It  set  'em  wild. 
Both  of  'em  went  plumb  wild.  I  couldn't  hear  for 
a  while  what  the  trouble  was,  because  they 
scrambled  their  words  just  like  the  little  one's 
hair,  talkin'  to  the  girl  and  me  and  the  Siwash 
and  each  other.  But  the  Siwash  he  gave  another 
laugh  and  rode  away  —  he  had  his  mail.  I  stayed. 
I  hadn't  got  used  to  em  yet.  Thought  maybe 
she'd  better  have  a  man  around.  But  they  was 
absolutely  harmless.  And  then  I  began  to  under 
stand. 

The  girl  she  sat  there  indulgin'  'em.     Told  'em 


WHERE   IT  WAS  237 

she  wasn't  goin'  to  worry  'em  about  it  any  more. 
They  told  her  there  was  coal  there  and  they 
was  goin'  to  supply  the  whole  valley,  and  it  was 
better  than  a  gold-mine.  She  might  just  as  well 
have  worried  'em  instead  of  sittin'  so  peaceful  on 
the  calico  horse,  because  they  would  never  have 
noticed  any  worryin'  she  could  do  —  they  was  that 
busy  with  the  worry  they  were  keepin'  up  all  by 
themselves.  She  was  a  school-teacher  and  up  to 
now  she'd  kept  school  in  a  tent.  But  the  valley 
was  going  to  build  a  school-house  and  the  best 
location  for  it  happened  to  be  on  some  land  they'd 
filed  on.  Any  other  place  would  be  too  far 
for  somebody's  kids,  or  for  everybody's,  or  else 
hadn't  water  convenient.  But  it  seemed  they 
wouldn't  hear  of  it.  I  suppose  whoever  put  it  to 
'em  first  had  put  it  wrong,  and  now  all  y'u  had  to 
do  was  say  "  school-house  "  in  their  hearing,  and 
have  a  circus  prompt. 

"  Mr.  Edmund,"  says  she  to  me,  "says  that  if  their 
idea  of  other  minerals  is  like  their  idea  of  coal,  it's 
no  wonder  they  have  found  trapping  more  profit 
able.  But  no  one  can  persuade  them,  and  it's 
truly  a  pity  about  the  school-house."  Mr.  Edmund 
kept  the  store  at  Beekman. 

"  If  it's  not  coal,"  says  I,  "  what  is  it  ?  " 


238  MEMBERS  OF   THE   FAMILY 

"Oh,  slate,  or  graphite,  or  something  —  and 
just  a  tiny  ledge,  and  too  far  from  transportation." 

"  Well,  then,  it  don't  burn." 

"  You  can't  reason  with  them,"  says  she.  And 
she  smiles  down  at  them  two  quarrelin',  fussin' 
old  men.  It  would  have  brought  me  to  reason, 
her  smile  would,  but  she  never  gave  it  to  me. 

Yes,  she  indulged  'em.  The  valley  indulged 
'em  right  along.  They  was  so  old  and  so 
harmless.  Kultus  Jake  and  Frisco  Baldy  was 
their  names  — -  all  the  names  I  ever  heard  for  'em 
—  and  they'd  been  most  every wheres  before  other 
people  had.  Been  acrost  the  Isthmus  arid  round 
the  Horn,  they  claimed  —  not  together,  y'u  know, 
but  they  had  met  when  they  was  young.  Their 
trails  had  crossed  somewheres  in  Sonora.  Then 
they'd  met  again  on  the  Santa  Fe  trail,  when  they 
was  still  young.  And  so  now  and  then  they'd  kep' 
a-meetin'  and  a-growin'  less  young.  Been  through 
the  gold  excitement  of  '49.  Drifted  up  to  Port 
land.  Got  separated  at  Klamath  about  the  time 
of  the  Modoc  War.  Didn't  see  each  other  again 
till  both  come  face  to  face  over  in  the  Okanogan 
country  —  and  then  they  was  old.  They  remem 
bered  former  days,  and  it  tied  'em  together.  They 
was  goin'  to  Africa  next  time  they  felt  like  they 


WHERE   IT   WAS  239 

needed  a  change  of  air.  Kultus  Jake's  hair  was 
all  the  moss  he'd  ever  gathered,  and  Frisco  Baldy 
he  seemed  to  have  gathered  nothin'  whatever. 
But  they  packed  around  a  big  harvest  of  years  — 
no  one  ever  knowed  the  sum  of  it.  Wunst  in  a 
while  they  would  speak  of  something  they  had 
done  together  long  ago.  Then  y'u  knew  the 
silent  tie  between  'em.  I  don't  wish  to  live  that 
long  and  have  to  look  backward  when  I  want  to 
see  anything  of  promise.  It's  awful  when  every 
body  has  to  indulge  y'u  — time  to  quit  then.  But 
y'u  needn't  to  pity  Kultus  Jake  and  Frisco  Baldy, 
for  they  was  just  as  set  and  cheerful  about  goin' 
to  Africa  as  young  rich  folks  talkin'  over  what 
waterin'  place  they'll  visit  next  summer.  Liveliest 
old  junipers  that  ever  I  see  ! 

Kultus,  y'u  know,  is  Chinook,  and  it's  used  for 
most  anything  that  don't  amount  to  nothin'. 
And  while  we're  on  Chinook,  here's  something 
funny.  Potlatch  means  a  gift.  Now  you'd  suppose 
kiiltus  potlatch  would  be  a  poor  gift  —  counterfeit 
dollar  or  a  dozen  rotten  eggs,  for  instance.  Well, 
you're  wrong.  You  give  a  man  a  bridle,  or  a 
hindquarter  of  venison,  or  anything  y'u  choose, 
and  say  nothin'  when  y'u  give  it  —  that's  just  a 
plain  common  potlatcli,  and  it  means  he's  ex- 


240  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

pected  by  all  the  rules  to  give  you  something  pretty 
soon,  something  as  good  as  your  bridle  or  your 
deer.  But  you  say  "  Kiiltus potlatch  "  to  him,  and 
then  he'll  be  genuinely  grateful,  for  that  means 
you're  just  makin'  him  a  real  present  out  of  the 
warmness  of  your  heart,  and  don't  expect  him  to 
come  back  at  y'u  with  a  huckleberry  for  your 
persimmon.  Why,  when  a  Siwash  —  the  custom 
came  from  them  —  gave  me  somethin'  in  silence, 
it  used  to  worry  me  'most  to  death. 

What  the  mail-carrier  said  to  me  the  first  day, 
when  the  two  old  men  was  screechin'  inside  their 
tent,  was  that  they  were  children  and  fools.  But 
he  was  an  Injun  and  did  not  have  indulgent 
feelings.  I  saw  more  of  'em  and  didn't  mind 
'em.  I  fell  into  a  job  at  the  Forks.  Mr.  Edmund 
wanted  somebody  else  in  the  store,  and  I  could 
write  a  plain  hand  and  add  figures  fairly  correct. 
He  was  kind  of  mad  about  the  school-house,  havin' 
the  interests  of  the  valley  at  heart,  and  he  used  to 
watch  the  days  gettin'  shorter.  Mr.  Edmund 
had  everything  at  heart  —  too  much  at  heart  — 
other  folks'  troubles  as  well  as  his  own.  He 
would  lecture  me  about  them  in  his  deep-down 
voice.  School  wouldn't  do  in  a  tent  after  snow 
came,  and  he  saw  that  this  would  come  down  to 


WHERE   IT  WAS  241 

havin'  school  in  his  own  cabin  if  the  children 
was  to  get  any  teachin'  at  all.  He  was  the  only 
one  that  didn't  leave  'em  alone  about  their  coal 
mine.  Offered  to  buy  it  off  'em  wunst,  and  they 
screeched  for  ten  minutes.  Threatened  to  write 
to  Washington  and  have  him  removed  for  takin' 
advantage  of  his  office. 

"  Why,  you  don't  know  where  Washington  is," 
says  he,  with  his  voice  down  in  the  cellar. 

"  Washington,  D.C.  ?  "  screeches  Kultus  Jake. 
"  I  don't  know  ?  I  been  there  !  " 

"  Washington,  D.C.,"  repeats  Edmund  slow, 
like  Fate  a-comin'.  "  You  don't  know  where 
it  is."  That  was  Edmund  all  over.  His  way  o' 
jokin'. 

"  It's  in  Maryland,"  says  Frisco  Baldy. 

"  Virginia,  y'u  singed  porcupine  !  "  yells  Kultus 
Jake.  "  Don't  I  tell  y'u  I  been  there  ?  " 

And  I  seen  they  both  meant  it.  And  I  seen 
this  really  grieved  Edmund  instead  of  pleasin' 
him.  He  took  it  to  heart.  Well,  sir,  I  just 
went  acrost  the  store  and  lay  down  on  the  flour- 
sacks.  Kicked  up  my  heels.  Guess  I  made 
more  noise  than  the  old  men  did.  After  a 
minute  I  lifted  up  to  see  what  Edmund  was 
doin',  and  he'd  pushed  his  spectacles  up  high 


242  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

on  his  forehead  and  was  lookin'  at  the  two 
scrappin'  about  Washington,  D.C.,  out  of  his 
awful  solemn  eyes  ;  so  I  laid  down  again  flat. 
If  Edmund  had  talked  I  couldn't  have  heard  him, 
but  as  a  matter  of  fact  he  just  let  'em  go  it  alone ; 
and  they,  like  they  pretty  much  always  done, 
got  switched  off  on  to  somethin'  else  —  this 
time  it  was  the  traps.  There  was  some  number 
fours  hanging  there,  and  they  both  happened 
to  agree  it  was  number  fours  they  would  take 
when  they  started  into  the  mountains  to  trap 
for  the  winter.  So  traps  made  'em  forget  about 
Washington,  D.C.,  and  it  had  made  'em  forget 
about  exposin'  Edmund,  which  had  made  'em 
forget  the  coal-mine  and  the  school-house,  and 
so  they  departed  entirely  peaceful  out  of  the 
store  and  over  the  Thowmet  to  their  tent,  which 
they  had  moved  up  to  the  Forks.  Then  I 
looks  up  from  the  sacks  again.  There  stands 
Edmund  behind  his  desk,  same  as  ever,  spec 
tacles  away  up  on  his  forehead,  only  now  his 
solemn  eyes  was  fixed  on  me.  And  I  looks  at 
him,  not  knowin'  what  on  earth  he's  goin'  to  say 
or  whether  he's  mad  or  ain't  mad  —  for  y'u 
couldn't  often  tell  from  his  face.  For  a  young 
man  —  and  he  was  young  —  he  was  a  lot  growed 


WHERE   IT  WAS  243 

up.  I  expect  he  knew  sorrow  early.  Both  of 
us  was  quite  silent. 

"  I  didn't  know  they  didn't  know,"  says 
Edmund,  like  he  was  breaking  the  news  of  a 
death  to  y'u. 

And  I  lays  right  down  again  on  the  sacks. 

"  Good  Lord !  "  says  Edmund,  "  what  igno 
rance.  The  capital  of  their  country !  " 

But  I  could  only  fight  for  my  breath,  and  cry 
and  crv. 

Next  time  I  could  see  anything,  there  was 
Edmund  sittin'  on  the  counter  clost  alongside 
of  me,  legs  danglin'  against  the  sacks.  But 
that  time  when  I  looked  at  him  he  laughed  — 
laughed  all  through  fit  to  kill  himself,  same  as 
I'd  been  doin'.  And  it  was  at  himself,  y'u 
know,  as  well  as  at  the  whole  thing;  he  in 
cluded  himself  in  the  show. 

"  You're  quite  right,"  says  he. 

That  was  what  made  y'u  love  Edmund. 
When  a  thing  like  Washington,  D.C.,  came 
up,  he'd  most  always  get  it  wrong  first  —  see 
the  bad  side  of  it  too  big  and  the  good  side  too 
small  —  he  had  a  heap  of  misplaced  seriousness 
in  his  system  to  conquer.  But  he'd  sure  conquer 
it  every  time  if  y'u  gave  him  time,  It  took  me 


244  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

the  whole  first  week  I  worked  for  him  in  the 
store  to  find  this  out.  Edmund  was  the  squarest 
man  I  have  ever  known.  Too  square.  And 
about  the  finest.  He  was  from  an  Eastern 
college  and  entirely  wasted  on  the  Thowmet 
Valley,  where  nobody  but  him  had  any  educa 
tion  or  understood  honesty  as  he  understood  it. 

"  But  they're  obstacles  to  the  public  good  here, 
all  the  same,"  said  he  next ;  and  I  had  to  think 
back  before  I  saw  he  meant  the  old  men  was 
obstructin'  the  school-house  and  thereby  with- 
holdin'  light  from  the  young  hope  of  the  great 
empire  of  the  Northwest. 

He  came  back  to  it  too,  several  days  after 
that,  while  the  school-teacher  was  orderin'  slate- 
pencils. 

"  Oh,  leave  them  alone,"  says  she.  "  Mr. 
Edmund,  you'll  just  make  'em  worse." 

But  he  was  in  for  an  argument.  He  settled 
those  eyes  of  his  on  her  with  his  regular  May- 
God-have-mercy-on-your-soul  expression,  and  he 
told  her  she'd  ought  to  know  better.  But  she 
didn't  mind  him  any  more'n  I  did.  She  liked 
him. 

"You  know  as  well  as  I  do,"  says  he,  "that 
children  should  be  an  improvement  on  their 


WHERE   IT  WAS  245 

parents,  especially  when  those  parents  come  from 
Texas.  Texas  is  a  large  place,"  he  goes  on, 
"and  I  am  willin'  to  believe  that  it  contains 
thousands  of  enlightened  and  refined  persons 
—  but  they  don't  come  here.  If  your  scholars 
don't  learn  to  read  and  write,  where 's  any  prog 
ress  to  come  from  ?  " 

"Well,  Mr.  Edmund,"  says  she,  "all  I  know 
is  that  you  will  never  help  me,  or  the  school- 
house,  or  progress,  by  calling  Kultus  Jake  and 
Frisco  Baldy  a  pair  of  inspected  and  condemned 
mules  to  their  faces." 

I  didn't  know  he'd  called  'em  that.  Must  have 
been  outside  the  store  somewheres.  Edmund 
could  turn  his  tongue  wrong-side-out  when  he 
felt  like  it.  "  That's  what  they  are:"  says  he, 
laughin'  at  his  own  words,  which  he  had  for 
gotten.  "  But  as  for  this  valley,  it  was  inhabited 
by  better  citizens  when  the  wild  animals  lived 
here.  I  prefer  a  black-tailed  deer  to  a  Texan. 
Don't  waste  your  money  on  those  chocolates, 
Miss  Carey." 

"  Why,  what's  wrong  with  them  ?  "  says  she, 
with  the  box  in  her  hand. 

"  There's  no  chocolate  in  'em,"  says  Edmund. 
"  The  wholesale  house  cheated  me.  I'd  send 


246  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

'em  back,  but  I'd  sold  too  much  before  I  found 
out.  This  candy  here,"  says  he,  showin'  her 
some  more,  "  seems  to  be  what  it  claims  to  be." 

And  then,  while  she  seemed  to  hesitate  over 
the  chocolates,  what  do  y'u  suppose  he  does  ? 
Takes  the  box  sudden  out  of  her  hand,  walks 
out  to  the  river  bank  and  throws  the  whole 
outfit  plop  into  the  water! 

"  Isn't  that  just  like  him ! "  says  she  to  me, 
very  quiet  while  he  was  out  on  the  bank.  And 
it  was.  Yes,  Edmund  is  the  only  fool  I  ever 
loved. 

She  kept  starin'  out  at  him,  and  in  a  minute 
we  heard  the  noise  of  a  boat  bein'  rowed  acrost 
the  Thowmet.  Edmund  he  stands  watchin'  who 
ever  it  was  below.  Next  minute  up  the  bank 
comes  Kultus  Jake. 

"No  use  your  divin'  for  that  candy,"  says 
Edmund;  "it's  all  melted  by  now." 

But  Jake  didn't  know  about  the  candy  and 
he  had  somethin'  on  his  mind.  His  old  innocent 
blue  eyes  was  troubled. 

"  Decided  where  Washington,  D.C.,  is  ?  "  says 
Edmund,  walkin'  ahead  of  him  into  the  store. 

But  that  didn't  faze  Jake ;  he'd  come  to  say 
somethin'.  I  thought  Washington,  D.C.,  was  a 


WHERE   IT  WAS  247 

thing  of  the  past.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  hadn't 
scarcely  begun  ;  it  was  bidin'  its  time  for  all  of 
us,  though  none  of  us  could  ever  suspect  that 

"  Well,  where's  your  partner  this  afternoon  ? " 
says  Edmund. 

Kultus  Jake  he  walks  around  the  store  blinkin' 
at  the  various  goods,  and  he  touches  a  trap  here 
and  a  blanket  there  and  after  a  while  he  answers :  — 

"  Oh,  he's  over  to  Pipestone  Canon."  And  he 
walks  around  and  touches  some  more  goods. 

"  Figure  you'll  get  into  the  mountains  this 
season  ?  "  says  Edmund. 

"  Yes,"  says  Jake.  "  Next  week."  Then  he 
walks  up  close  to  Edmund.  "  Baldy's  over  to 
Pipestone  Canon,"  says  he.  "  We're  goin'  to 
start  next  week.  Don't  want  the  snow  to  get 
ahead  of  us.  Mink  and  marten  reported  plentiful 
up  Robinson  Creek.  One  man  seen  a  silver-gray 
fox.  Guess  we'll  do  pretty  well  this  winter.  Live 
in  Robinson  Cabin  —  it  ain't  fallen  down  like 
they  claimed."  And  he  took  another  turn  around 
by  the  door.  Well,  all  this  wasn't  much  to  tell 
people.  We  knowed  all  that  ourselves  —  but 
Jake  just  then  made  up  his  mind  quick  to  say 
what  he'd  come  to  say. 

"  Don't  you  josh  Baldy,"  says  he,  comin'  back 


248  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

close  up  to  Edmund.  "  Don't  you  do  it  any  more. 
I  don't  mind  joshin',  but  Baldy  —  he's  old." 

And  out  he  goes.  He  went  down  the  bank, 
and  next  y'u  could  hear  the  knockin'  of  his  oars, 
as  he  rowed  himself  back  over  the  Thowmet  to 
their  tent.  Miss  Carey  she  looked  at  the  door 
where  he'd  gone  out,  smilin'  very  pretty.  It  takes 
a  woman  to  understand  them  feelin's  men  has, 
but  conceals. 

"  Well,  I  must  be  getting  home  for  supper," 
says  she.  She  boarded  a  little  ways  up  the  North 
Fork  with  some  folks  that  had  quite  a  family. 
But  when  she's  outside,  just  startin'  to  untie  her 
horse,  "  Why,  ^here  comes  Frisco  Baldy  !  "  says 
she,  and  waits  for  him. 

Frisco  Baldy  was  comin',  sure  enough,  ridin' 
up  the  river  quite  slow,  and  lookin'  acrost  at  where 
their  tent  was  in  the  flat  land  this  side  o'  the 
blacksmith's  cabin.  Then  we  knowed  Jake  had 
spied  him  and  that  was  what  made  him  speak 
out  so  quick. 

Baldy  he  arrives  and  gets  down.  "  Been  over 
to  Pipestone  Canon,"  says  he.  "  We'll  be  startin' 
for  the  Robinson  Cabin  next  week,  I  guess. 
Snow's  not  meltin'on  the  mountain  tops  any  more. 
She's  liable  to  come  down  here  for  keeps  any  day. 


WHERE   IT  WAS  249 

Well  —  we'll  be  needin'  a  lot  o'  truck  off  you. 
Beans  and  pork  and  coffee,  and  stuff  in  general  — 
me  and  Jake'll  be  over  to  see  you  about  it.  Guess 
you'll  have  to  let  us  pay  you  in  furs  when  we 
come  out  in  the  spring.  Old  man  Parrigin  seen 
a  silver-gray  fox.  Say !  "  And  Baldy  walks  clost 
up  to  Edmund.  "  Don't  you  josh  Jake.  He's 
old." 

And  out  he  goes ! 

I  looks  at  Miss  Carey  —  just  in  time  to  catch 
her  whippin'  her  handkerchief  away  from  her  eye. 

"  Well,"  begins  Edmund  —  but  she  bursts  right 
out  on  him. 

"  Don't  you  say  anything !  Don't  say  a  thing!" 
she  cries.  "  They're  just  two  poor,  quaint,  dear, 
helpless  old  waifs."  Oh,  she  looked  at  Edmund 
perfectly  ragin'. 

I  didn't  know  what  Edmund  would  do  about 
that.  He  had  an  awful  quick  temper.  But  he 
gives  a  smile  pretty  near  as  lovely  as  hern  had 
been,  and  his  solemn  brown  eyes  merely  looked 
kind  o'  surprised. 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "  I  was  goin'  to  say  I  would 
grubstake  'em  for  nothin'.  They  needn't  give 
me  any  furs." 

It  pulled  her  right  up  short  and  I  don't  know 


250  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

what  she  would  have  said,  for  there  was  Frisco 
Baldy  on  the  bank,  hollerin'  and  throwin'  his  arms 
up  and  down.  I  run  out.  I  thought  somebody 
was  in  trouble.  Just  in  the  bend  there  below 
where  the  North  Fork  comes  in,  there's  a  big 
deep  hole.  Well,  nobody  was  in  no  trouble. 
Jake  was  rowin'  himself  over  to  our  side  again, 
and  Baldy  appeared  not  to  want  him  over  on  our 
side.  So  he  kept  a-bellerin'  and  throwin'  his  arms, 
and  Jake  he  came  along  over,  not  mindin'  about 
Baldy  on  the  bank.  He  landed  and  dumb  up  the 
bank  right  past  Baldy,  and  Baldy  he  yells  out :  — 

"  Didn't  y'u  see  me  tellin'  y'u  to  stay  over 
there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  seen  y'u  and  I  come,"  says  Jake,  not 
yellin',  but  in  his  nat'ral  voice.  And  he  starts 
past  him. 

"  Didn't  y'u  see  I've  got  the  horse  and  can  cross 
at  the  ford  without  y'u?" 

That  starts  Jake  and  he  yells  back :  "  I  didn't 
come  for  you ;  I  came  for  a  box  of  matches,  y'u 
bawlin'  bobcat." 

So  there  they  was  at  it  again,  scrappin'  about 
nothin'  at  all.  And  Jake  he  bought  his  matches, 
mad,  and  cleared  out  to  his  boat ;  and  old  Baldy 
he  got  on  his  horse,  mad,  and  cleared  out  to  the 


WHERE   IT  WAS  251 

ford ;  and  I  don't  know,  when  they  got  to  their 
tent,  whether  they  went  on  with  that  partic'lar 
dissension  or  whether  they'd  forgot  all  about  it 
and  had  to  start  up  a  new  one  to  keep  'em  from 
feelin'  lost.  Oh,  they'd  contracted  the  habit  o' 
disagreement,  I  suppose,  same  as  a  man  gets  to 
depend  on  havin'  a  quid  of  tobacco  in  his  cheek. 
But  while  speakin'  to  Edmund  about  his  joshin', 
the  eyes  of  both  of  'em  had  given  away  the  store 
they  set  by  each  other. 

Miss  Carey  she  went  home  with  her  slate-pencils 
ordered  and  some  candy  Edmund's  conscience 
was  willin'  for  him  to  recommend,  and  me  and 
Edmund  was  left  alone  in  the  store.  I  wanted  to 
say  somethin'  about  Kultus  Jake  and  Frisco 
Baldy's  latest  unpleasantness,  and  somethin'  about 
the  way  each  one  had  sneaked  in  to  ask  Edmund 
not  to  josh  the  other  one  any  more;  and  I  had 
things  to  say  about  the  bad  chocolates,  and  about 
Edmund's  plan  of  grubs takin'  the  old  junipers 
when  they  should  start  into  the  mountains  for  a 
winter's  trappin'  —  I  was  full  of  conversation,  but 
Edmund  wasn't.  He  was  loaded  plumb  to  the 
gills  with  silence.  I  could  tell  that  from  his 
looks.  I  had  come  to  know  by  hard  experience 
that  there  was  spells  when  Edmund  not  only 


252  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

didn't  want  to  say  a  word  himself,  but  didn't  want 
you  to,  either.  And  if  y'u  happened  to  say  any- 
thin' —  don't  care  what  —  he'd  fly  at  y'u.  I  said 
wunst  it  was  goin'  to  rain,  and  just  merely  this 
started  Edmund  roundin'  me  up  for  the  inatten 
tive  way  I  had  of  lettin'  my  mind  wander  from 
my  business.  It  did  rain,  too.  So  now  I  won 
dered  for  a  while  what  he'd  say  when  he  felt  like 
speakin'  once  more.  It  was  generally  some  very 
peculiar  remark  y'u  couldn't  foresee.  Of  course 
Edmund  was  college-raised,  but  it  wasn't  no 
college-raisin'  made  him  Edmund.  I've  saw 
heaps  of  graduates  and  undergraduates  and  they're 
just  like  other  people  when  y'u  come  to  know 
'em.  But  I'd  forgot  wonderin'  by  the  time  Ed 
mund  did  speak.  He  made  me  jump. 
"  I  am  the  oldest  man  in  this  valley." 
That  is  what  he  said  in  the  store  long  after 
dark  with  two  lamps.  He  was  makin'  out  an  or 
der  to  send  to  Seattle  by  the  mail  next  day  —  a 
big  order,  because  it  was  likely  to  be  the  last  lot 
of  goods  we  could  send  for  that  year.  Freight 
teams  couldn't  get  into  the  valley  after  the  heavy 
snow  came. 

Well,  I  didn't  say  anythin',  for  I  wasn't  full  of 
conversation  any  more.     Edmund  he  stands  back 


WHERE   IT  WAS  253 

of  his  desk  and  shoves  his  spectacles  up  on  his 
forehead,  and  his  eyes  was  lookin'  at  me  so  y'u'd 
have  thought  I'd  committed  —  well,  most  any- 
thin'. 

"  Very  much  the  oldest  man  in  this  valley," 
says  Edmund,  lookin'  more  serious  —  if  possible. 

"  All  right,"  says  I. 

"  I  will  be  twenty-five,"  says  Edmund,  "  next 
fourteenth  of  July.  I'm  going  to  bed." 

So  he  marched  out  with  his  lamp  and  left  me 
in  the  store  with  all  the  shadows  and  things,  and 
the  sound  of  the  North  Fork  rapids  under  the 
bridge.  One  lamp  made  awful  little  light  in  that 
store.  D'y'u  think  I  laughed  at  Edmund  then, 
like  I  so  often  did  ?  Not  a  bit.  I  sat  down  on 
the  counter  and  thought  him  over.  And  for  the 
first  time  I  expect  I  saw  him  clear.  Saw  him 
alone  in  that  valley,  unlike  anybody  or  anythin' 
that  was  there,  or  likely  to  come  there.  And  him 
with  his  college  mates  and  all  men  and  women 
who  set  store  by  him  miles  and  miles  and  miles 
away  in  the  East.  It  made  me  feel  old  and  lone 
some  myself !  And  then  —  throwin'  those  choco 
lates  into  the  river!  Maybe  he  was  the  oldest 
man  in  the  valley,  for  Jake  and  Baldy  had  crossed 
the  line  into  childhood. 


254  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

But  I  laughed  at  him  next  mornin'.  The  Si- 
wash  had  started  down  the  valley  with  the  mail 
and  no  one  had  come  to  the  store  yet  that  early 
—  it  was  dark.  So  Edmund  had  nothin'  to  do, 
and  he  was  weighin'  himself  on  the  scales. 

"  I  don't  gain,"  says  he,  disgusted.  "  Not  a 
pound  in  a  year." 

"  Y'u  don't  think  the  thoughts  that  make  a  man 
fat,"  says  I. 

"  A  hundred  and  forty,"  says  he,  and  jumps  down. 

Well,  I  did  weigh  a  hundred  and  sixty,  stripped, 
right  along  —  and  we  was  pretty  near  of  a  height. 
Maybe  I  had  half  an  inch  the  better  of  him. 
"  But,"  I  tells  him  for  consolation,  "  it's  your  great 
age.  You'll  be  twenty- five  next  July  and  I  was 
only  twenty-four  last  June."  It  was  November 
we  was  in,  y'u  know.  So  I  laughs. 

"  Yes !  "  he  says.  "  You  twenty-four !  You 
stopped  maturing  at  six."  And  he  laughs,  too. 

The  Siwash  was  late  comin'  back  with  the 
mail  over  the  Chillowisp.  Snow  must  have  been 
three  foot  deep  in  the  mountains,  and  it  lay  for 
quite  a  while  in  the  valley,  so  we  thought  Kultus 
Jake  and  Frisco  Baldy  had  waited  too  late  and 
would  lose  their  chance  to  get  to  their  trappin'. 
They  did  lose  it,  too,  but  not  exactly  that  way  — 


WHERE   IT   WAS  255 

but  I'll  come  to  that  point  when  I  get  there. 
Snow  druv  school  indoors.  Miss  Carey  she  had 
to  quit  the  tent  —  and  sure  enough  it  turned  out 
like  I  told  y'u.  Edmund's  sittin'-room  was  filled 
up  with  Texan  kids  —  Edmund's  private  room, 
which  he  had  so  nicely  fixed  up  with  all  his  col 
lege  things:  mugs,  flags,  an  oar,  pictures  of  his 
friends,  a  whole  heap  of  stuff.  It  had  to  be  used 
for  the  school,  bein'  the  only  possible  place,  or 
school  had  to  stop  till  spring  come  round  and  the 
tent  could  serve  again.  Well,  Edmund  wasn't 
willin'  to  cut  off  the  hope  of  the  empire  of  the 
Northwest  for  five  whole  months.  Of  course 
they  wasn't  there  Saturdays  and  Sundays,  or  at 
night,  or  at  hours  when  he  really  needed  his 
room  —  he  was  in  the  store  durin'  school-time  — 
but  every  day,  after  the  kids  had  gone  home, 
poor  Edmund  he  had  to  open  all  the  windows  of 
his  pet  room.  He  caught  Miss  Carey  sweepin' 
it  of  their  leavin's  and  scolded  her  savage  for 
that.  Insisted  on  sweepin'  it  himself.  Would 
have  his  way.  My  sakes,  but  he  was  a  cross 
man  every  day  while  he  was  sweepin' !  Then 
the  kids  they  bruck  one  or  two  of  his  souvenirs, 
touchin'  and  meddlin'  with  them,  and  Miss  Carey 
was  wild.  Edmund  didn't  mind  half  as  much. 


256  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

She  spoke  to  me  as  we  was  takin'  a  ride  together 
one  Sunday,  when  the  snow  had  melted  most  off 
again.  Guess  it  was  early  in  December.  She 
wanted  her  folks  back  in  Orange,  New  Jersey,  to 
buy  new  things  and  send  'em  out.  She  was 
earnest  about  it.  She  was  a  nice-lookin'  girl.  I 
remember  that  ride.  Tamaracks  was  all  yello' 
and  sheddin',  makin'  yello'  patches  on  the  snow 
with  their  needles,  but  the  pines  was  that  green 
they  was  black  a  little  ways  off,  and  the  wind 
smelt  of  'em  strong. 

"  I  wanted  particularly  to  replace  the  glass  de 
canter,"  she  says,  "  but  it  only  made  him  rude  to 
me.  I  had  to  tell  him  it  was  a  very  strange  thing 
that  the  only  gentleman  in  the  valley  should  be 
the  one  person  who  had  been  rude." 

"  Goodness  to  gracious !  "  I  shouts  out,  "  what 
did  he  say?" 

"  That  I  was  the  only  lady  in  the  valley,  and 
that  explained  it." 

"  Well,"  I  says,  "  he's  never  apologized  as  hand 
some  as  that  to  me."  So  we  both  laughs. 

"  But,"  she  says  just  before  we  got  home,  "  he 
ought  not  to  tease  those  poor  old  men." 

"Well,  he's  not  done  it  lately  —  not  in  my 
hearin',"  I  says. 


WHERE   IT  WAS  257 

It  happened  Edmund  had  done  It.  Couldn't 
keep  his  mouth  shut  about  the  school-house  ques 
tion.  It  was  the  old  men's  duty,  he  claimed,  to 
give  their  land  for  the  school-house.  Edmund 
was  awful  about  people's  duty.  He  brung  it  up, 
though,  in  a  new  way.  He  thought  he  was 
makin'  a  joke.  Hands  out  the  pieces  of  the 
decanter  to  Jake  and  Baldy,  and  tells  'em  they 
done  that  damage  and  it  was  their  business  to 
make  it  good;  so  when  they,  who  had  never 
seen  the  decanter  before,  didn't  make  out  what 
he  was  drivin'  at,  Edmund  tells  'em  they're  the 
final  cause.  He  explains  how  if  they'd  given 
their  land,  the  school-house  would  have  been  built 
and  no  accidents  would  have  occurred.  Edmund 
meant  that  to  be  funny,  but  Jake  and  Baldy  went 
off  cursin'  him  and  the  school  and  the  whole  val 
ley,  and  wasn't  a  bit  grateful  for  learnin'  what  a 
final  cause  is. 

But  back  they  comes  in  a  day  or  two  as  usual, 
as  if  no  words  had  passed,  and  they  buy  theu* 
truck  to  go  trappin'.  Takes  'em  all  day,  but  Ed 
mund  is  wonderful  patient.  So  they  can't  start 
that  day.  So  they  comes  back  next  day  to  pack 
up  and  start.  And  it  was  then  that  Washington, 
D.C.,  comes  up  again.  The  Siwash  was  a  day 


258  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

overdue  with  the  mail,  and  some  of  the  Texans 
was  assembled  at  the  store  to  see  the  mail  arrive. 
They  expected  no  letters,  but  it  was  somethin' 
to  do  and  they  always  done  it  —  assembled  and 
stood  around  inside  the  store  and  out.  Then  to 
day  they  had  more  to  do,  for  there  was  Kultus 
Jake  and  Frisco  Baldy  and  their  horses,  packin' 
up  their  stuff.  That  gave  everybody  a  chance 
to  make  remarks  and  be  wise.  They  hardly  no 
ticed  the  mail  when  it  did  come  about  ten  o'clock, 
they  was  so  busy  tellin'  the  old  men  the  best  way 
to  do  everythin'  —  best  trap,  best  bait,  best  way 
to  make  a  set  —  when  Edmund  he  begins  to  lec 
ture.  He  comes  out  with  a  letter  in  his  hand 
and  holds  it  up.  That's  the  subject  of  the  lec 
ture.  Letter  has  come  to  the  wrong  Beekman. 
It  was  mailed  at  Portland,  Awregon,  and  ad 
dressed  to  "  Beekman,  Massachusetts,"  and  it 
has  come  out  of  its  way  to  "  Beekman,  Wash 
ington,"  thereby  losin'  a  lot  of  time,  of  course. 
For  it  had  went  over  the  Northern  Pacific  on 
its  right  way  as  far  as  Spokane,  and  then  had 
come  back  through  Coulee  City  away  up  here, 
and  it  would  get  to  Beekman,  Massachusetts, 
about  two  weeks  late. 

"  It  all  comes,"  says  Edmund,  "  of  havin'  places 


WHERE   IT   WAS  259 

of  the  same  name.  That  ought  to  be  against  the 
law."  He  told  us  there  was  nine  Beekmans.  He 
took  it  to  heart  heavy,  as  usual.  "  As  the  coun 
try  grows  and  settles  up,"  he  says,  "  they'll  keep 
on  namin'  places  Beekman.  There'll  be  a  hun 
dred  Beekmans  before  we're  through.  It  ought 
to  be  a  state's  prison  offence." 

"  In  that  case,"  says  a  Texas  parent,  "  you 
couldn't  call  this  territory  Washington." 

"  I  guess  this  is  a  free  country,"  says  another. 

"  I  guess,"  says  another,  "  the  folks  that  live  in 
a  place  has  the  right  to  call  that  place  what  they 
see  fit." 

Poor  Edmund !  It  wasn't  no  use  him  ex- 
plainin'  the  confusion  it  made. 

"  There's  forty-eight  places  named  Washington 
now,"  says  he.  "  I've  looked  it  up.  There  ought 
to  be  just  one.  The  capital  of  the  United  States. 
And  the  map  is  pitted  with  'em  like  smallpox." 

"  Washington,  D.C.,  Maryland,"  says  Frisco 
Baldy,  haulin'  in  slack  on  the  diamond  hitch. 

"  Virginia,"  says  Kultus  Jake,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  pack. 

Edmund  he  just  give  'em  both  a  witherin'  look, 
and  he  whirls  back  into  the  store  and  gets  to 
work  at  his  desk.  Wouldn't  come  out  to  tell 


26o  MEMBERS   OF   THE    FAMILY 

the  old  men  good-by  when  they  started  off  up 
the  river,  although  he  was  grubstakin'  'em  for 
nothin'.  They  didn't  know  that,  of  course.  Ex 
pected  to  pay  him  in  furs  when  they  come  back 
in  the  spring. 

"  You'll  not  get  very  far  to-day,"  says  an  on 
looker  to  the  departin'  junipers.  "  You're  makin' 
a  late  start." 

"Camp  at  Early  Winter,"  one  of  'em  says. 
Early  Winter  was  a  creek  that  come  into  the 
main  stream  about  halfway  to  the  Robinson 
Cabin. 

"  Wake  la-k  hyas  cole  snass"  says  the  Siwash 
mail-carrier. 

"  Oh,  no,  it  ain't,"  says  a  Texan,  lookin'  the 
weather  up  and  down. 

"  Well,  I  think  maybe  it  will,"  says  another, 
sweepin'  his  eyes  around  the  sky.  "  And  maybe 
it  won't." 

So  that  sets  'em  discussin'  the  probabilities  of  a 
big  snow  and  if  Siwashes  knowed  about  such 
things  more'n  white  men  did.  They  concluded 
Siwashes  was  inferior  to  white  men  in  every  re 
spect,  and  it  wasn't  goin'  to  snow. 

"  Good  luck  !  "  one  of  'em  calls  out.  But  Kul- 
tus  Jake  and  Frisco  Baldy  was  by  that  time  on 


WHERE   IT   WAS  261 

the  bridge  over  the    North    Fork,  and   couldn't 
hear  him. 

No  more  events  took  place  that  day.  The 
kids  finished  their  school  and  went  home.  Miss 
Carey  she  went  home.  Edmund  opened  the  win 
dows  and  swept  the  floor.  A  few  folks  bought 
things  durin'  the  day,  or  came  to  buy  and  didn't, 
and  some  had  letters  to  go  out  next  day.  There 
was  always  a  little  more  hustle  round  mailtimes. 
But  a  lonesome  winter  softness  filled  the  valley 
and  seemed  to  make  y'u  hear  the  stove  plainer. 
The  trunks  of  the  trees  kind  of  appeared  more 
silent.  Everythin'  was  quieter.  I  remember  Ed 
mund  looked  out  of  the  door  about  sundown  and 
said  the  Si  wash  had  been  right,  there  was  goin' 
to  be  a  big  snow.  Even  his  voice  sounded 
quieter  in  the  clouded-over  light,  and  Edmund's 
voice  was  always  deep  —  the  voice  of  a  man  who 
was  all  man.  Lyin'  in  bed  that  night  I  never 
knowed  the  dark  could  be  so  still.  Funny  thing 
was,  I  heard  the  rapids  under  the  bridge  all  of  a 
sudden.  Of  course  they'd  been  goin'  right  on  all 
the  time.  What  makes  y'u  notice  things  and  not 
notice  'em  ?  It  got  very  solemn,  that  room  did, 
in  the  dark.  Those  old  men  was  too  old  to  go 
off  into  the  mountains.  Then  I  heard  the  little 


262  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

sound  of  the  snowflakes  around  on  the  cabin. 
They  must  have  started  fallin'  pretty  late,  for 
next  mornin'  it  wasn't  deep,  not  four  inches  yet, 
but  it  was  keepin'  on.  Old  man  Parrigin  come 
in  about  nine,  and  he  says  he  had  told  everybody 
yesterday  a  storm  was  comin'.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  he'd  been  one  of  the  surest  no  storm  was 
comin'.  It  makes  Edmund  look  sour  at  him. 
And  bye  and  bye  another  prophet  drops  in,  and 
he  says  he  had  offered  to  bet  it  would  snow. 
And  by  eleven  o'clock  the  fifth  Texan  had  come 
along  to  sit  around  the  stove  ;  and  he  says  —  like 
every  one  of  'em  had  done  before  him  —  that  any 
body  could  have  told  it  was  goin'  to  snow.  Oh, 
not  one  of  'em  had  ever  doubted  it  for  a  minute  ! 
It  gets  too  much  for  Edmund  to  bear,  and  he 
pushes  up  his  spectacles  high  on  his  forehead 
and  looks  at  me,  mournful  as  anythin'. 

"  Last  Fourth  of  July,"  says  he  to  me,  "  I  said 
it  was  going  to  snow  to-day." 

Old  man  Parrigin  he  starts  laughin'  at  that. 
He  come  from  New  York  state  and  he  could  see 
a  joke,  even  when  Edmund  made  it.  But  when 
y'u  make  that  kind  of  a  joke  to  a  Texan  —  the 
kind  of  Texan  that  moves  away  from  Texas  —  he 
says  you're  insultiri'  him.  Around  the  stove  they 


WHERE   IT   WAS  263 

all  looks  dignified  and  spits  without  words.  We 
could  hear  the  rapids,  and  indoors  the  kids  was 
singin'  some  kind  of  Christmas  chorus  Miss  Carey 
wras  teachin'  to  'em.  Their  voices  come  to  us 
through  a  couple  of  shut  doors.  One  of  the 
Texans  as  had  been  insulted  by  Edmund's  joke 
now  asserts  his  self-respect  by  changin'  the  subject. 
"  Washington,  D.C.,"  says  he,  "  is  in  Pennsyl 


vania." 


Edmund  he  sighs  heavy  and  goes  on  postin' 
up  his  ledger. 

Old  man  Parrigin  gives  me  a  nudge.  "  I  won 
der  if  Miss  Carey  would  hold  a  night-school  ?  " 
says  he,  and  winks. 

The  fellars  around  the  stove  they  spits  some 
more.  They  was  afraid.  That's  what  was  the 
matter.  Plain  it  was  there  had  been  talk  among 
'em,  ridin'  away  yesterday  after  Edmund's  re 
marks.  Maybe  some  of  'em  knowed  their  geog 
raphy  correct  on  that  point,  but  they  didn't  feel 
they  knowed  it  correct  enough  to  insist  upon 
it  in  the  presence  of  witnesses.  Anyway  they 
drops  it  now,  and  after  some  further  spittin'  they 
changes  the  subject  again. 

"There'll  be  plenty  snow  at  the  Robinson 
Cabin,"  says  one. 


264  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Plenty  at  Early  Winter  by  now,"  another 
says. 

"  Oh,  they'll  get  through,"  says  a  third. 

"  I  wonder  if  they'll  get  my  silver-gray  fox," 
says  old  man  Parrigin.  So  the  talk  turns  for  a 
while  on  trappin',  and  dies  down  till  the  rapids 
was  the  only  noise;  and  then  a  Texan  got  up 
and  stretched  himself,  and  said  he'd  be  late  for 
dinner,  he  guessed,  if  he  didn't  begin  to  think 
some  about  startin'  home.  So  he  began  to  think, 
I  suppose,  though  it  didn't  show  none  on  his 
face.  Edmund  kep'  a-writin'  up  his  ledger.  Y'u 
could  hear  the  rapids  just  as  if  they  had  come 
clost  up  outside.  And  the  snow  was  fallin'  and 
fallin'. 

Old  man  Parrigin  holds  up  his  hand.  "  What's 
that  ?  "  he  says.  So  we  all  pricks  up  our  ears. 

The  snow  had  the  valley  pretty  well  muffled, 
but  there  did  seem  to  be  somethin'.  So  a  fellar 
looks  out  and  he  says  it's  somebody  comin'  acrost 
the  bridge.  Hard  to  tell  who  it  was  for  the  snow. 
But  next  minute  he  got  nearer,  and  it  was  Frisco 
Baldy,  walkin'  his  horse  turrable  slow. 

"My  God!"  says  somebody,  "somethin's  hap 
pened."  And  we  all  crowds  out. 

"  More  horses  on  the  bridge,"  says  Parrigin. 


WHERE   IT  WAS  265 

We  could  all  see  'em.  It  was  packhorses 
creepin'  along.  Behind  'em  trailed  a  man  ridin', 
and  that  was  Kultus  Jake. 

"  Then  what  has  happened  ? "  somebody  says. 

Baldy  he  arrives  first,  snow  on  his  hat  two 
inches  deep.  He  gets  down  and  jumps  some  to 
shake  off  the  snow,  and  then  walks  in  through  us 
and  goes  to  the  stove  and  takes  a  chair.  Not  a 
word  said.  Packhorses  they  arrives  and  stands 
around  all  over  snow  —  stand  sad  and  hang 
dog,  like  they  was  guilty  and  had  gave  up 
denyin'  it.  Jake  comes  along  a  mile  an  hour, 
same  as  Baldy ;  and  he  gets  down  and  jumps  the 
snow  off,  and  same  as  Baldy,  he  passes  through 
us  and  goes  to  the  stove.  But  he  puts  it  between 
him  and  Baldy.  Sits  down  and  don't  look  at 
Baldy.  So  we  all  comes  back  in  and  sits  down,  too 
— except  Edmund.  He  goes  behind  his  desk  and 
stands  up  there  with  his  spectacles  pushed  high. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  says. 

Baldy's  lips  move,  but  nothin'  sounds. 

"Well?"  Edmund  repeats.  "Was  the  trail 
snowed  up  ?  Anybody  dead  ?  " 

Jake  clears  his  throat,  but  that's  all. 

Then  Baldy  manages  to  talk.  "  No,"  he  says 
kind  of  croakin';  "trail  wasn't  snowed  up." 


266  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Not  then,  it  wasn't,"  says  Jake.  "  Nobody's 
dead." 

Up  flares  Edmund's  temper.  He  swings  a  big 
hammer  down  on  the  counter  with  a  bang,  and 
he  lets  out  one  swear  as  thorough  and  bad  as  any 
Western  man.  Y'u'd  been  scared  yourself  if  he'd 
aimed  it  at  you.  After  all,  Edmund  had  grub 
staked  'em,  though  they  didn't  know  it. 

The  hammer  and  the  oath  dislodges  Jake's 
voice.  "  That  man,"  says  he,  noddin'  contemptu 
ous  acrost  the  stove  at  Baldy  —  "that  man  claims 
it's  in  Maryland." 

I  have  explained  to  y'u  that  Edmund  was  an 
unexpected  person  in  his  ways.  I  looked  for 
more  hammer  and  more  blasphemy.  They  had 
let  Washington,  D.C.,  break  up  their  winter's  trap- 
pin'.  But  Edmund  he  slowly  relaxes  on  the 
hammer,  and  he  just  stands  and  stands  and  keeps 
a-lookin'  at  'em,  merely  inter-ested  —  more  and 
more  inter-ested.  And  they  sits  blinkin'  at  him. 
Won't  look  at  each  other. 

Then  a  Texan  speaks.  "  I  have  said  right 
along  that  it  was  in  Pennsylvania." 

There's  times  when  things  get  altogether 
beyond  any  daily  feelin's  a  man  commonly  has. 
I  didn't  want  to  lay  down  on  the  flour  sacks  this 


WHERE   IT   WAS  267 

time.  Didn't  want  to  laugh  at  all.  And  Ed 
mund  wasn't  a  bit  mad.  Even  old  man  Parrigin 
makes  no  symptoms  except  of  further  inquiry. 
And  the  Texans,  of  course,  was  merely  anxious 
to  have  a  point  settled  that  some  of  'em  had  been 
disputin'  over. 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  all  about  it,"  says 
Edmund.  Violets  ain't  milder  than  he  was. 

Well,  that  was  exactly  what  they  couldn't  do, 
y'u  see.  When  they  first  come  in  and  saw  how 
we  was  all  anxious  over  watchin'  'em  arrive  I  ex 
pect  it  came  home  to  'em,  I  expect  it  shamed  'em. 
They  took  in  then  the  way  they  and  their  actions 
would  look  to  the  valley,  and  talkin'  came  hard 
to  'em.  But  once  they  got  started,  they  was  soon 
screechin'  at  each  other  as  usual,  and  forgot 
appearances.  They  had  got  to  Early  Winter, 
they  had  camped  at  Early  Winter,  but  on  the 
way  there  the  argument  had  come  up.  Must 
have  growed  pretty  warm  by  bedtime,  for  it  had 
lasted  through  their  sleep  so  they  wasn't  speakin' 
to  each  other  at  breakfast.  Y'u  see,  alone  up 
there  with  the  snow  there  wasn't  nothin'  new  to 
change  the  subject  for  'em.  It  stayed  right  with 
'em,  and  after  breakfast  it  bruck  out  worse  than 
ever,  Jake  for  Virginia  and  Baldy  for  Maryland, 


268  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

and  they  had  it  all  the  time  they  was  packin', 
givin'  each  other  proofs  where  it  was ;  and  when 
they  was  ready  to  go  they  wouldn't  live  with  each 
other  any  more,  wouldn't  camp,  wouldn't  trap, 
wouldn't  speak  —  and  so  they  had  come  home! 

So  there  they  was,  and  there  we  was,  and  there 
it  was.  They'd  simmered  down  again  now,  after 
tearin'  loose  and  tellin'  all  about  it.  They  was 
quiet.  They  sat  with  the  stove  between  'em  and 
just  blinked  on  and  on.  Snow  fallin';  rapids 
soundin';  nothin'  else  durin'  it  must  have  been 
all  of  a  minute  —  and  it  felt  like  ten. 

The  strain  got  too  severe  for  that  Texan,  and 
he  spoke  with  the  gentlest,  anxiousest  voice,  like 
a  child  pleadin'  for  somethin' :  — 

"  Say,  ain't  it  in  Pennsylvania  ?  " 

And  outside  in  the  snow  one  o'  them  horses 
gives  a  long,  weary,  hungry  neigh. 

That  horse  breakin'  in  bust  somethin'  inside  of 
me  and  Parrigin  and  Edmund.  Edmund  he 
gives  a  kind  of  youp  !  Parrigin  curls  over  on  the 
counter,  and  I'd  have  laid  right  down  on  the  sacks, 
only  I  wasn't  near  'em,  and  so  I  leaned  up  against 
the  shelves.  Nobody  else  did  nothin'  because 
Jake  and  Baldy  hadn't  any  heart  left  after  seem' 
themselves  in  their  true  light,  and  the  other 


WHERE   IT  WAS  269 

Texans  they  was  bein'  very  careful  now  about 
their  geography — they  were  savin'  it  up,  they 
wasn't  givin'  any  of  it  away,  not  even  to  charity. 

But  after  his  youp  Edmund  pulls  himself  up 
and  he  takes  charge  of  the  meetin',  and  when  me 
and  Parrigin  hears  him  beginnin'  a  speech  we 
comes  to  and  listens. 

"  This  is  a  great  valley,"  says  Edmund,  behind 
his  desk.  "  It  has  song  and  story  whipped  to  a 
finish."  Then  he  fixes  his  big  glum  eyes  on 
Kultus  Jake  and  Frisco  Baldy.  "  Don't  think," 
says  he,  "  you'll  draw  me  into  your  argument. 
But  you  hold  the  record.  Wherever  Washington 
is,  it  would  have  stayed  there  till  spring.  Your 
words  haven't  moved  it  anywhere  else.  But  you 
have  lost  your  winter  over  this.  Couldn't  you 
have  waited  and  come  home  with  your  load  of 
furs,  and  been  a  success  instead  of  a  failure? 
For  you  can't  turn  around  and  go  back  into  the 
mountains  now;  you'd  never  get  halfway,  and 
unless  unusual  weather  follows  this  soon,  the 
passes  will  be  choked  for  the  next  three  months." 

Edmund  stops  with  that.  It  was  fairly  hard 
on  the  poor  old  blinkin'  junipers — but  y'u'll 
notice  Edmund  hadn't  told  'em  a  word  about  the 
grubstakin'.  "  If  everybody  will  come  in  here," 


270  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

he  says,  "  perhaps  we  can  find  some  child  to 
settle  the  question." 

He  opens  the  door  and  we  all  shambles  in 
through  after  him  to  the  school-room.  Miss  Carey 
she  rises  from  her  chair,  and  of  course  she  don't 
know  what  to  make  of  it. 

"  Miss  Carey,"  says  Edmund,  "  will  some  of 
your  scholars  kindly  tell  us  what  the  capital  of 
the  United  States  is,  and  where  it  is  ? " 

Miss  Carey  she  looks  at  the  kids  sittin'  around 
the  table  fixed  for  'em.  Gosh,  y'u'd  ought  to 
have  seen  the  hands  fly  up  all  over  the  room ! 

"  Everybody  may  answer,"  says  Miss  Carey. 

And  out  they  yells  it.  It  was  like  the  chorus 
they  was  practisin'  for  Christmas.  Oh,  she  had 
'em  trained  ! 

There  was  long  breaths  of  relief  drawn  among 
the  men  standin'  sheepish  by  the  door  —  two 
or  three  regular  sighs  come  out  from  that 
crowd. 

"  Thank  you,  Miss  Carey,"  says  Edmund,  "and 
please  excuse  us  for  troubling  you."  So  he  leads 
the  way  back  into  the  store  and  goes  behind  his 
desk.  If  anybody  expected  him  to  make  another 
speech  they  was  disappointed.  Edmund  looked 
cold  and  ca'm,  and  just  as  unconcerned  as  though 


WHERE   IT  WAS  271 

he'd  been  addin'  sums  or  readin'  a  two-weeks-old 
newspaper.  He  starts  writin'  at  his  ledger. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  late  for  dinner,"  says  the  Texan. 

"  I  told  y'u  where  it  was,"  says  another. 

One  by  one  they  shuffles  out,  Jake  and  Baldy 
mixed  in  with  them,  and  they  swings  up  on  to 
their  horses  and  slowly  goes  away  —  up  the  river 
and  down  the  river  and  acrost  the  bridge  — 
till  y'u  could  see  none  of  em  no  more  through 
the  fallin'  snow;  and  in  the  store  was  just 
Edmund  writing  and  me  lookin'  at  him,  and 
the  sound  of  the  rapids. 

Did  Edmund  talk  then  ?  That  wouldn't  have 
been  Edmund.  Nothin'  was  said  in  that  store 
by  him  or  me  for  —  well,  it  must  have  been  quite 
a  while  before  the  door  opened  and  Miss  Carey 
she  pokes  her  head  in  and  wants  to  know  if  she 
may  be  so  bold  as  to  inquire  what  all  that  meant 
in  the  school-room.  The  kids  had  gone  home 
early  for  fear  of  the  snow.  So  Edmund  he  smiles 
perfectly  peaceful  and  tells  her  about  it.  So, 
of  course,  she  thinks  it  very  comic  and  she 
laughs  hearty  —  but  all  of  a  sudden  she  remem 
bers  and  expresses  sympathy  for  Edmund's  mis 
placed  generosity. 

"  Don't   let   that   trouble    you,"    says   he,   gay 


272  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

enough.  "  I  meant  to  grubstake  'em,  and  I 
will.  It  shall  not  cost  'em  a  cent.  Don't  tell 
the  poor  old  idiots." 

So  that  was  that.  But  the  poor  old  idiots  had 
somethin'  more  to  say.  They  had  a  thought. 
It  snowed  away  all  that  night  —  a  great  big  snow 
—  but  next  mornin'  it  had  quit  and  there  was 
promise  of  its  turnin'  into  a  fine  large  day.  The 
kids  had  come  to  school  pretty  late,  but  they 
come.  And  then  into  the  store  walks  Kultus 
Jake  and  Frisco  Baldy.  For  a  while  they  walks 
around  and  just  inspects  all  the  goods  they 
knowed  by  haart  anyway. 

"  Well  ?  "  says  Edmund.  And  they  looks  at 
each  other. 

"  Could  we  step  into  the  school-room  just  a 
minute  ?  "  says  Jake  then. 

Edmund  he  looks  surprised,  but  asks  no  ques 
tions,  and  in  we  all  goes.  Miss  Carey  she  gets 
up  again. 

"  Any  more  information  ?  "  says  she,  pleasant. 

"  No,"  says  Jake. 

"Not  to-day,"  says  Baldy. 

"  We,"  says  Jake,  "  well  —  we  —  we'd  —  " 

Baldy  gets  restless  and  he  steps  up.  "  Put 
your  school-house  on  our  land,"  says  he. 


WHERE   IT  WAS  273 

"  We  want  to  give  it  to  y'u,"  says  Baldy. 

"  Coal  and  all,"  says  Jake. 

There  was  a  pink  color  went  over  Miss  Carey's 
face  —  all  over  it  —  and  she  didn't  say  a  word 
for  a  while ;  she  looks  quick  at  Edmund  and 
then  she  looks  back  at  the  two  old  men,  and 
her  eyes  has  tears  in  'em. 

"  Folks  ought  to  know  geography,"  says  Jake. 

"We  want  the  kids  in  this  valley  to  know 
it,"  says  Baldy. 

"  Knowledge  will  save  'em  from  mistakes," 
says  Jake. 

And  then  Miss  Carey  she  speaks  at  last. 
"  Thank  you,"  she  says. 

"  Is  this  potlatch  ?  "  inquires  Edmund,  jokin'. 

"  Kultus  potlatch  !  "  says  both  of  'em  together. 

Would  y'u  think  it?  —  after  that  day  I  never 
heard  'em  scrappin'  together  again.  Maybe  they 
did  sometimes,  but  not  in  my  hearin'.  Their 
experience  seemed  to  have  changed  'em  some 
how.  In  the  store  I'd  catch  'em  lookin'  at  each 
other.  Their  eyes  was  gentle.  I  think  —  yes, 
I  think  they  knowed  that  it  was  coming,  that 
good-by  was  on  its  way  to  them.  The  school- 
house  was  built  in  the  spring;  and  after  the 
school  got  into  it,  now  and  again  Jake  and 


274  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

Baldy  would  sneak  up  to  the  door,  look  in  and 
take  a  back  seat.  And  one  of  'em  would  say 
he'd  like  to  ask  the  kids  a  question :  Where 
was  Washington,  D.C.  ?  And  when  the  answer 
came,  Jake  and  Baldy  they'd  laugh  like  they'd 
split  and  sneak  out  again.  One  day  in  the 
store  we  heard  the  knockin'  sound  of  a  boat 
bein'  rowed  over  the  river,  and  Baldy  came  into 
the  store  alone.  He  walks  to  Edmund,  but  he 
looks  down  on  the  floor. 

"Jake's  sick,"  says  he.  "Jake's  sick."  Oh, 
he  knowed  what  it  meant. 

There  was  no  doctor  in  the  valley,  but  what 
could  a  doctor  do?  In  about  three  days  we 
had  Baldy  sick,  too.  The  tie  between  'em  was 
the  tie  of  life,  and  Jake  died  of  a  Saturday 
and  Baldy  died  Monday. 

"  They  must  be  buried  by  the  school-house," 
says  Miss  Carey.  And  everybody  went.  And 
then  up  comes  the  question  what  to  put  on  the 
headboard  ?  It  brought  up  something  none  of 
us  had  thought  of. 

"  Why,  we  don't  even  know  their  names ! " 
says  Miss  Carey,  very  soft. 

We  didn't  know  anything.  They  had  come 
into  the  valley,  they  had  made  the  valley  laugh, 


WHERE   IT  WAS  275 

they  were  gone.  That  was  all.  Not  a  fact  or 
a  birthplace  or  anythin'  to  put  over  them  that 
would  tell  who  they  had  been.  But  Miss  Carey 
wasn't  goin'  to  let  it  be  like  that.  She  took 
it  in  charge  and  she  got  it  right.  She  found 
a  bit  of  poetry  and  she  had  the  board  painted, 
and  it  was  this  way:  "Jake  and  Baldy.  Our 
Friends.  Their  heart  was  free  from  malice,  and 
all  their  anger  was  excess  of  love.'* 

And  then  along  in  July  Edmund  got  married 
to  Miss  Carey.  They  was  sure  a  happy  two  ! 

"  Are  y'u  still  the  oldest  man  in  the  valley  ? " 
I  asks  Edmund  one  day  in  the  store. 

"  About  tnree  and  a  half,"  says  Edmund, 
solemn  and  deep.  But  then  he  laughs. 

Oh,  yes,  their  happiness  filled  that  store,  filled 
the  whole  cabin,  crowded  it.  Maybe  that's  why 
I  left  the  valley. 


VIII 

THE    DRAKE   WHO    HAD   MEANS   OF 
HIS    OWN 

SCIPIO  sat  beside  the  table  —  Mrs.  Culloden's 
still  very  new,  wedding-present  table  —  arguing 
on  and  on,  and  I  forgot  all  about  him.  When  he 
slapped  the  Wyoming  game  laws  for  that  year 
down  on  the  table  hard,  and  complained  that  I 
was  not  listening  to  him,  I  continued  to  look  out 
of  the  ranch  window  at  the  pond  and  merely 
said :  — 

"  Just  hear  those  ducks." 

He  stared  at  me  with  disgust  and  scorn. 
"  Ducks  ! "  he  then  muttered. 

"  Well,  but  hear  them,"  I  urged. 

"Well,  they're  quackin',"  he  said.  "A  duck 
does."  He  picked  up  the  game  laws  and  re 
sumed:  "As  I  was  telling  you,  it  says — page  12, 
section  25  — " 

But  I  gave  him  no  attention  and  still  looked 
out  at  the  pond. 

So  then  he  remarked  bitterly :  "  I  suppose 
ducks  crow  back  East  —  or  bark." 

276 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     277 

He  was  perfectly  welcome  to  all  the  satire  he 
could  invent;  I  was  not  to  be  turned  from  my 
curiosity  about  the  clamor  in  the  water  outside, 
and  as  I  watched  I  said  aloud :  "  There's  some 
thing  behind  it." 

This  brought  him  to  the  window,  where,  as  he 
stood  silent  beside  me,  I  could  feel  his  impatience 
as  definitely  as  if  it  had  been  a  radiator.  The 
matter  was  that  he  had  his  mind  running  on 
something  and  I  had  my  mind  running  on  some 
thing —  and  they  weren't  the  same  things;  and 
each  of  us  wished  the  other  to  be  interested  in 
his  own  thing. 

"  Something  behind  it,"  echoed  Scipio  slight 
ingly.  "  Behind  every  quack  you'll  find  a  duck." 

To  this  I  returned  no  answer. 

"  Maybe  they  have  forgot  themselves  and  laid 
eggs  in  the  water,"  suggested  Scipio. 

"  Do  your  Western  ducks  lay  much  in  Septem 
ber  ? "  I  inquired,  with  chill. 

The  noise  in  the  pond,  which  had  died  down 
for  an  instant,  was  now  set  up  again  —  loud,  re 
monstrant,  voluble ;  the  two  birds  sat  in  the  mid 
dle  of  the  water  and  lifted  up  their  heads  and 
screamed  to  the  sky. 

"  That's  what  they've  done,"  said  Scipio ;  "  and 


?y8  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

they  can't  locate  the  eggs.  Well,  it'd  make  me 
holler  too.  Say,"  he  pleaded,  "  what's  the  point 
in  your  point,  anyhow?  I  want  to  show  you 
about  those  game  laws." 

"  Must  I  hear  it  all  over  again  and  must  I  say 
it  all  over  again  ? "  I  responded,  not  taking  my 
eye  from  the  pond. 

"  You've  never  heard  it  wunst  yet,  for  you've 
never  listened." 

"  I  did.  I  didn't  begin  to  wander  till  you  be 
gan  repeating  the  whole  thing  for  the  third  time. 
And  now  I'll  say,  for  the  fourth  time,  it's  a  close 
season  till  1912.  There  they  go  out  of  the  pond, 
single  file  —  Duchess  in  the  lead.  The  Duchess 
has  purple  in  her  wings;  the  Countess  has 


none." 


"  Oh,  soap  fat !  "  said  Scipio. 

"  And  they've  gone  to  feed  on  the  grain  in  the 
haystack.  There's  Sir  Francis  waiting  for  them 
by  the  woodpile.  He's  the  drake," 

"  Oh,  soap  fat !  "  repeated  Scipio. 

I  followed  the  ducks  until  they  had  waddled 
out  of  sight. 

"  Every  now  and  then,  during  the  day,"  I  said, 
"they  go  through  that  same  performance:  sit  in 
the  water  and  scream  louder  each  minute,  then 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     279 

come  out  and  head  for  the  haystack  in  the  most 
orderly,  quiet  manner,  just  after  having  given 
every  symptom  of  falling  into  convulsions.  Now 
I'm  going  to  find  out  what  that  means.  And 
what  I  am  wondering  at,"  I  continued,  "  is  why 
you  do  not  suggest  that  they  are  screaming  at  the 
game  laws." 

Well,  we  sat  down  then  and  had  it  out  about 
those  game  laws ;  and  it  is  but  right  to  confess 
that  they  were  more  important  to  poor  Scipio 
than  the  ducks  were  to  me.  First  we  took  sec 
tion  25  to  pieces,  dug  its  sentences  to  the  bottom, 
and  carefully  lifted  out  every  scrap  which  gave 
promise  of  containing  sense.  It  was  no  child's 
task.  You  didn't  reach  the  first  full  stop  for  a 
hundred  and  twelve  words  —  nothing  but  com 
mas;  it  was  like  being  lost  in  the  sage-brush  — 
and,  by  the  time  the  full  stop  did  come,  your 
head  —  but  let  me  quote  the  sentence  :  — 

"  It  shall  be  unlawful  for  any  person  or  persons 
to  kill  any  antelope  until  the  open  season  for 
other  game  animals  in  1915,  when  only  one  ante 
lope  may  be  killed  by  any  person  hunting  legally, 
or  to  kill  any  moose,  elk  or  mountain  sheep  until 
the  open  season  for  other  game  animals,  in  1912, 
when  only  one  male  moose  may  be  killed  by  any 


28o  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

person  hunting  legally,  or  to  kill  any  elk  or  moun 
tain  sheep  in  any  part  of  this  state,  except  in  Fre 
mont  County,  Uinta  County,  Carbon  County  and 
that  part  of  Bighorn  County  and  Park  County 
west  of  the  Bighorn  River,  until  the  open  season 
for  game  animals  in  1915." 

To  tell  you  all  that  we  said  before  we  had  fin 
ished  with  this  would  be  worse  than  useless  —  it 
would  be  profane;  enough  that  I  stuck  to  the 
conclusion  I  had  reached  when  I  read  the  section 
in  the  East —  no  hunting  anything  anywhere  for 
anybody  until  1912.  On  the  strength  of  it  I  had 
left  my  rifle  at  home  and  brought  only  my  fishing 
rod. 

"  If  it  is  your  way,"  said  Scipio,  "  what  do  you 
make  of  section  26  ?  '  It  shall  be  unlawful  for 
any  person  or  persons  to  hunt,  pursue  or  kill  any 
elk,  deer  or  mountain  sheep  except  from  Septem 
ber  twenty-fifth  to  November  thirtieth  of  each 
year" "  He  yelled  the  last  two  words  at  me. 

But  I  merely  clapped  my  hands  to  my 
brow. 

"  And  if  it  is  your  way,"  Scipio  pursued,  play 
ing  his  ace,  "what  do  you  make  of  Honey  Wiggin 
taking  a  party  out  next  Monday  for  six  weeks  ?  " 

"  Why,  they'll  simply  all  be  arrested." 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     281 

"  No ;  they'll  not.  I've  saw  Honey's  license 
with  this  year  stamped  in  red  figures  right  acrost 
it,  just  as  plain  as  headlines." 

What  could  one  reply  to  that?  I  picked  up 
the  pamphlet  and  stared  at  the  page. 

Scipio  ruminated.  "Will  you  tell  me,"  he  said, 
"  why,  in  a  country  where  everybody's  born  equal, 
the  legislature  should  be  a  bigger  fool  than  any 
body  else  ? " 

"  It's  a  free  country,"  I  reminded  him.  "  Every 
man  has  the  right  to  be  an  ass  here." 

But  Scipio  still  brooded.  "  Well,"  he  said,  "  if 
I  was  a  legislator  —  "  he  stopped. 

"  You're  not  qualified,"  said  I. 

"Not?" 

"  You  haven't  sufficient  command  of  the  Eng 
lish  language." 

"  What!"  cried  Scipio;  for  vocabulary  is  his 
chief  pride  and  I  had  actually  touched  him. 

"  No.  You  couldn't  cook  up  two  paragraphs 
of  your  mother  tongue  that  would  defy  any  sane 
human  intelligence." 

"They  have  done  worse  than  that  to  me,"  he 
said  ruefully.  "  They  have  lost  me  my  season's 
job.  The  party  I  was  to  take  out  read  them  laws 
same  as  you  did,  and  they  stayed  back  East  and 


282  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

made  other  plans.  That's  what  I  got  in  last 
night's  mail." 

"Well,  I  haven't  stayed  back  East,"  I  said. 
"  The  fishing's  about  done,  but  I  want  an  excuse 
for  another  month  or  two  of  outing.  My  things 
can  get  here  in  twelve  days  —  we'll  hunt,  and  I'll 
be  your  season's  job.  And,"  I  added,  "now  I 
shall  have  time  to  study  the  ducks." 

We  launched  then  into  discussion  of  horses 
and  camp  outfit,  copiously  arguing  what  the 
legislature  would  let  a  man  hunt,  pursue,  or  kill  in 
a  season  it  declared  to  be  open  for  no  big  game 
at  all,  until  from  eleven  the  clock  went  round  to 
noon ;  and  in  the  kitchen  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Cullo- 
den  was  heard,  calling  clearly  to  her  young  bride 
groom  in  the  corral  —  calling  too  clearly. 

"  Well,  Jimsy,"  the  voice  said,  "  are  you  going 
to  get  me  any  wood  for  this  stove — or  ain't  you?" 

Our  discussion  dropped ;  we  sat  still ;  it  was 
time  for  Scipio  to  be  getting  back  across  the 
river  to  his  own  cabin  and  dinner.  He  rose,  put 
on  his  hat,  and  stood  looking  at  me  for  a  moment. 
Then  he  took  his  hat  off  and  scratched  his  head, 
glancing  toward  the  kitchen. 

"  Jimsy,  did  you  hear  me  telling  you  about  that 
wood  ?  "  came  the  voice  of  the  young  bride,  a 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     283 

trifle  clearer.  "  I  seem  to  have  to  remind  you  of 
everything." 

Scipio's  bleached  blue  eye  n^rl  his  long,  eccen 
tric  nose  turned  slowly  once  more  on  me.  "  My, 
but  it's  turrabb  easy  to  get  married,"  was  his 
word.  He  shoved  his  hat  on  again  and  was  out 
of  the  door  and  on  his  horse ;  and  I  watched  him 
ride  down  to  the  river  and  ford  it.  As  he  grew 
distant,  my  three  ducks  waddled  back  from  the 
haystack  to  the  pond.  The  Duchess  led,  the 
Countess  followed ;  Sir  Francis  brought  up  the 
rear.  But  how  could  I  attend  to  them  while 
the  following  reached  me  through  the  door  from 
the  kitchen? 

"  If  dinner's  late  you  can  thank  yourself,  Jimsy." 

"  Why,  May,  I  split  the  wood  for  you  right  after 
breakfast.  That  corral  gate  —  " 

"  Split  the  wood  and  leave  me  to  carry  it ! " 

"Well,  I've  been  about  as  busy  as  I  could  be 
on  the  ditch  ;  and  that  gate  needs  — " 

"  Never  mind.  Wash  your  hands  and  get 
ready  now.  Kiss  me  first." 

At  this  point  it  seemed  best  to  go  out  of  the 
sitting-room  door  and  come  presently  into  the 
kitchen  by  the  other  way,  at  the  moment  when 
my  hostess  was  placing  the  hot  food  upon  the 


284  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

table.  It  was  good  food,  well  cooked;  and  all 
the  spoons  and  things  were  bright  and  clean. 
Bright  and  clean  too,  and  very  pretty,  was  the 
little  bride.  She  was  not  twenty  yet;  Jimsy  was 
not  twenty-four ;  and  as  he  sat  down  to  his  meal 
I  saw  her  look  at  him  with  a  look  which  I  under 
stood  plainly :  had  no  stranger  been  there  to  see, 
some  more  kissing  would  have  occurred.  Yet, 
what  did  she  now  find  to  say  to  him  —  she  that  so 
visibly  adored  him  ? 

"Jimsy  Culloden!  Well,  I  guess  you'll  never 
learn  to  brush  your  hair !  " 

Jimsy  suddenly  grinned.  "  Others  have  en 
joyed  it  pretty  well  this  way,"  said  he.  "  Tangled 
their  hands  all  through  it."  And  his  gray  eyes 
twinkled  at  me.  But  the  little  woman's  blue  eyes 
flashed  and  she  sat  up  very  stiff.  "  Before  I 
asked  you,  that  was,"  Jimsy  added. 

Have  I  ever  told  you  how  Jimsy  became  mar 
ried  ?  I  believe  not  —  but  it  would  take  too  long 
now  ;  it  will  have  to  wait.  His  bachelor  liveliness 
had  not  contributed  to  his  mother's  peace  of 
mind,  but  all  was  now  well;  the  poker  chips  had 
gone  I  don't  know  where ;  our  beloved  old  card- 
table  of  past  years  stood  now  in  the  bridal  bed 
room,  stifled  in  feminine  drapery  beyond  recog- 


"  My,  but  it's  turrable  easy  to  get  married 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     285 

nition;  the  bottles  that  in  these  days  lay  empty 
beyond  the  corral  had  contained  merely  tomato 
ketchup  and  such  things;  and  here  was  Jimsy 
Culloden  a  stable  citizen,  an  anchored  man,  county 
commissioner,  selling  vegetables,  alfalfa,  and 
horses,  with  me  for  a  paying  boarder  in  that  new- 
established  Wyoming  industry  which  is  locally 
termed  dude-wrangling.  The  eastern  "  dude  "  is 
destined  to  replace  Hereford  cattle  in  Wyoming 
—  and  sheep  also. 

Jimsy  was  an  anchored  man,  to  be  sure :  might 
he  possibly  some  day  drag  his  anchor  ?  I  glanced 
at  his  blue-eyed  May,  so  fair  and  competent,  and 
I  hoped  her  voice  would  not  grow  much  clearer. 
I  glanced  at  Jimsy,  quietly  eating,  and  wondered 
if  a  new  look  lately  lurking  in  his  eye  —  a  look  of 
slight  bewilderment  —  would  increase  or  pass. 

"  Didn't  I  see  Scipio  Le  Moyne  ride  away  ? " 
he  asked  me. 

"  Yes.     It  was  dinner-time." 

"  Couldn't  he  stay  here  and  eat  ?  " 

"There  you  go,  Jimsy  Culloden;  wanting  to 
feed  this  whole  valley  every  day,  just  like  you 
was  rich ! " 

Jimsy 's  gray  eyes  blinked  and  he  attended  to 
his  plate.  The  failure  of  that  little  joke  about 


286  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

tangled  hair  was  the  probable  cause  of  his  pres 
ent  silence,  and  the  bride  appealed  to  me. 

"  Ain't  that  so  ?  "  she  said.  "  You've  been  here 
before.  You  know  how  folks  loaf  around  up  and 
down  this  valley  and  stop  to  dinner,  and  stay  for 
supper,  and  just  eat  people  up  !  " 

She  was  so  perfectly  right  in  principle  that  my 
only  refuge  from  the  perilous  error  of  taking  sides 
was  the  somewhat  lame  remark ;  "  Well,  Scipio 
isn't  a  dead-beat,  you  know." 

"  There !  "  cried  Jimsy,  triumphantly. 

"  Mr.  Cuiloden  would  have  fed  a  dead-beat  just 
the  same,"  returned  the  lady  promptly. 

Again  she  was  entirely  right.  From  good 
heart  and  long  habit  Jimsy  made  welcome  every 
passing  traveler  and  his  horse.  When  Wyo 
ming  was  young  and  its  ranches  lay  wide,  desert 
miles  apart,  such  hospitality  was  the  natural,  un 
written  law;  but  now,  in  this  day  of  increasing 
settlements  and  of  rainbowed  folders  of  railroads 
painting  a  promised  land  for  all  comers,  a  young 
ranchman  could  easily  be  kept  poor  by  the  perpet 
ual  drain  on  his  groceries  and  his  oats.  Jimsy's 
wife  was  stepping  between  him  and  his  bachelor 
shiftlessness  in  all  directions,  and  the  propitious 
signs  of  her  influence  were  everywhere.  Indoors 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     287 

and  out,  a  crisp,  new  appearance  of  things  har- 
bingered  good  fortune.  Why,  she  had  actually 
started  him  on  reforming  his  gates !  Did  you 
ever  see  the  thing  they  were  frequently  satisfied 
to  call  a  gate  in  Wyoming?  A  sordid  wreck  of 
barbed  wire  and  rotten  wood,  hung  across  the 
fence-gap  by  a  rusty  loop,  raggedly  dangling  like 
the  ribs  of  a  broken  umbrella. 

The  telephone  bell  called  Mrs.  Culloden  to  the 
sitting-room  near  the  end  of  dinner. 

Mrs  Sedlaw,  her  dear  friend  and  schoolmate 
living  five  miles  up  the  valley,  was  inviting  them 
to  dinner  next  day  to  eat  roast  grouse. 

"  Let's  go,"  said  Jimsy. 

"  And  you  quit  your  ditch  and  me  quit  my 
ironing  ? "  answered  the  clear  voice.  "  Thank 
you  ever  so  much,  Susie ;  we'd  just  love  to,  but 
Jimsy  can't  go  off  the  ranch  this  week  and  I'd 
not  like  to  leave  him  all  alone,  even  if  I  wasn't 
as  busy  as  I  can  be  with  our  wash."  There  fol 
lowed  exchange  of  gossip  and  laughter  over  it, 
and  much  love  sent  to  and  fro  —  and  the  receiver 
was  hung  up. 

"  As  for  grouse,"  I  said  to  Jimsy,  for  his  silence 
was  on  my  nerves,  "  I  will  now  go  and  catch  you 
some  trout  superior  to  any  bird  that  flies." 


288  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

Sir  Francis,  the  snow-white  drake,  stood  by  the 
woodpile  as  I  crossed  the  enclosure  on  my  way 
to  the  river.  In  the  pond  the  lady  ducks  were 
loudly  quacking,  but  I  passed  them  by.  I  de 
sired  the  solitude  of  Buffalo  Horn,  its  pools,  its 
cottonwoods,  its  quiet  presiding  mountains;  and 
I  walked  up  its  stream  for  a  mile,  safe  from  that 
clear  voice  and  from  the  bewildered  eye  of  Jimsy, 
my  once  blithe,  careless  friend.  >. 

Unless  it  be  from  respect  for  Izaak  Walton  and 
tradition,  I  know  not  why  I  ever  carry  in  my  fly-book, 
or  ever  use,  a  brown-hackle ;  it  has  wasted  hours 
of  fishing  time  for  me.  The  hours  this  afternoon 
it  did  not  waste,  because,  under  the  spell  of  the 
large  day  that  shone  upon  the  valley,  my  thoughts 
dwelt  not  on  fish,  but  with  delicious  vagueness 
upon  matrimony,  the  game  laws  and  those  ducks. 
With  the  waters  of  Buffalo  Horn  talking  near  by 
and  singing  far  off,  I  watched  all  things  rather 
than  my  line  and  often  wholly  stopped  to  smell 
the  wild,  clean  odor  of  the  sage-brush  and  draw 
the  beauty  of  everything  into  my  very  depths. 
So  from  pool  to  pool  I  waded  down  the  south 
fork  of  Buffalo  Horn  and  had  caught  nothing 
when  I  reached  Sheep  Creek,  by  Scipio's  ranch. 
Here  I  changed  to  a  grizzly  king  and  soon  had 
killed  four  trout. 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     289 

Scipio  was  out  in  his  meadow  gathering  horses, 
and  he  came  to  the  bank  with  a  question :  — 

"  Find  the  eggs  them  ducks  laid  in  the  water?" 

"  Jimsy  wanted  to  know  why  you  didn't  stay  to 
dinner,"  was  my  answer. 

"  Huh  !"  Scipio  watched  me  land  a  half-pound 
fish.  Then:  "They  ain't  been  married  a  year 
yet." 

I  cast  below  a  sunken  log  and  took  a  small 
trout,  which  I  threw  back,  while  Scipio  resumed : 

"Why  I  didn't  stop  to  dinner!  Huh!  Say, 
when  did  they  quit  havin'  several  wives  at  wunst?" 

"  Who  quit  ?  " 

"Why,  them  sheep-men  back  in  the  Bible  — 
Laban  and  Solomon  and  them  old-timers.  What 
made  'em  quit  ?  " 

"  They  didn't  all  quit.  There,  you've  made 
me  lose  that  fish.  Are  you  thinking  two  wives 
would  be  twice  as  bad  as  one  ?  " 

"  You'll  get  another  fish.  I'm  thinking  they 
wouldn't  be  half  as  bad  as  one." 

Certain  passages  in  Scipio's  earlier  days  came 
into  my  mind,  but  I  did  not  mention  them  to  him. 
Possibly  he  was  thinking  of  them  himself. 

"  Two  at  once  is  not  considered  moral  in  this 
country,"  I  said. 


29o  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

Scipio  mused.  ^  Fm  not  sure  I've  ever  clearly 
understood  about  morals,*'  he  muttered.  "  Are 
you  going  to  keep  that  whitefish  ?  " 

"  I  always  keep  a  few  for  the  hens.  Makes  'em 
lay." 

This  caused  Scipio  to  look  frowningly  across 
Buffalo  Horn  to  where  the  Culloden  Ranch 
buildings  lay  clear  in  the  blue  crystal  of  the  after 
noon  light.  "  Marriage  ain't  learned  in  a  day," 
he  remarked,  "  any  more  than  ropin'  stock  is. 
He  ain't  learned  how  to  be  married  yet." 

Again  I  thought  of  Scipio's  past  adventures 
and  remembered  that  the  best  critics  are  they  who 
have  failed  in  art. 

"  Did  you  mean  what  you  said  about  hunting 
with  me  ?  "  Scipio  now  inquired. 

"  Sure  thing ! "  I  returned,  "  if  you're  right 
about  Honey  Wiggin." 

"  Oh,  I'm  right  enough.  You'll  see  him  come 
by  here  Monday." 

"  Then  I'll  send  East  for  my  things,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  I'll  be  looking  for  a  man  to  cook  and 
horse-wrangle,"  said  Scipio. 

As  I  approached  the  ranch  across  the  level 
pasture  with  my  fish,  I  could  hear  from  afar  the 
quack  of  the  ducks,  invisible  in  the  pond,  and 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     291 

could  see  from  afar  the  snow-white  figure  of  the 
drake,  stationary  by  the  woodpile.  Now  for  the 
first  time  the  idea  glimmered  upon  me  that  he 
had  something  to  do  with  it.  But  what?  I 
came  to  the  breast  of  the  little  pond  and  stood 
upon  it  to  watch  the  Countess  and  the  Duchess. 
They  were  making  a  great  noise;  but  over  what? 
Sometimes  they  sat  still  and  screamed  together; 
a  punctuation  of  silence  would  then  follow. 
Next  one  or  the  other  would  take  it  up  alone. 
Was  it  a  sort  of  service  they  were  holding  to 
celebrate  the  sunset?  I  looked  up  at  the  lustrous 
crimson  on  the  mountain  wall  —  a  mile  of  giant 
battlements  sending  forth  a  rose  glow  as  if  from 
within,  like  something  in  a  legend ;  birds  and 
beasts  might  well  celebrate  such  a  marvel — but 
the  Countess  and  Duchess  were  doing  this  at 
other  hours,  when  nothing  particular  seemed  to 
be  happening.  I  looked  at  the  drake  by  the 
woodpile.  He  had  not  moved  a  quarter  of  an 
inch.  He  stood  in  profile,  most  becomingly. 
His  neat,  spotless  white,  his  lemon-colored  bill, 
his  orange-colored  legs,  his  benign  yet  confident 
attitude,  as  if  of  personal  achievement  taken  for 
granted  but  not  thrust  forward  —  all  this  put  me 
in  mind  of  something,  but  so  faintly  that  I  could 


292  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

not  just  then  make  out  what  it  was.  Shouts  from 
the  Duchess  at  the  top  of  her  voice  hastily  re 
called  my  attention  to  the  pond. 

I  expected  to  find  something  sudden  was  wrong. 
Not  at  all.  The  water  was  without  a  wrinkle, 
the  ducks  floated  motionless :  yet  there  had  been 
a  note,  a  quality,  urgent,  piercingly  remonstrant, 
in  those  quacks  of  the  Duchess.  She  might 
have  been  calling  for  the  constabulary,  the  fire 
brigade,  and  the  health  department.  And  then, 
without  change  for  better  or  for  worse  in  anything 
around  us  that  I  could  see,  the  two  birds  swam 
placidly  to  land.  They  got  out  on  the  bank, 
wiggled  their  tails,  stood  on  their  toes  to  flap 
their  wings,  and,  this  brief  drying  process  being 
over,  they  took  their  way  to  the  drake.  He  stood 
by  the  woodpile,  stock-still  in  profile  ;  he  had  not 
yet  moved  a  quarter  of  an  inch  ;  it  seemed  to  me 
—  but  I  was  not  certain  —  that  his  ladies  raced 
as  they  drew  near  him.  When  they  reached  him 
he  turned  with  gravity  and  headed  for  the  hay 
stack.  They  fell  in  behind  him  and  the  three 
waddled  and  wobbled  solemnly  toward  their  goal, 
squeezed  under  the  fence  and  were  lost  to  view. 

I  took  in  my  trout  to  Mrs.  Culloden,  who 
praised  their  size  and  my  skill.  On  the  subject 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     293 

of  giving  her  hens  a  diet  of  whitefish,  she  told  me 
it  was  her  great  ambition  so  to  manage  that 
before  the  moulting  fowls  should  wholly  stop 
laying  the  spring  pullets  should  have  begun  to  lay. 

"Jimsy  is  real  fond  of  eggs,"  she  explained, 
"  and  I  want  him  to  have  them." 

I  further  learned  that  whitefish  cooked  were 
better  than  whitefish  raw,  which  often  tainted  the 
eggs  with  a  fishy  taste.  I  stood  high  in  the  little 
bride's  favor  because  I  was  helping  her  to  please 
Jimsy.  Lying  abed  that  night  in  my  one-room 
cabin,  I  said  aloud,  abruptly :  "  That  was  a  pro 
test." 

I  know  nothing  about  what  they  call  our  sub 
conscious  workings,  save  that  I  am  choke-full  of 
them ;  I  meant  the  Duchess.  Apparently  my 
subconscious  works  had  been  dealing  with  her 
ever  since  the  scene  at  the  pond.  Thus  a  con 
clusion  had  popped  out  of  my  mouth  full-fledged 
before  I  knew  it  was  there.  "  Yes,"  I  repeated ; 
"  she  was  protesting.  They  both  were." 

The  works,  however,  must  have  stopped  after 
that  for  the  night  —  or  turned  to  other  activity  — 
for  next  morning  I  went  down  to  the  pond  with 
nothing  beyond  the  two  theories  of  yesterday: 
that  it  was  protest  and  that  the  drake  was  some- 


294  MEMBERS   OF  THE    FAMILY 

how  at  the  bottom  of  it.  But  I  scored  no  ad 
vance  in  my  knowledge.  All  three  birds  were  in 
the  water  and  did  not  come  out  while  I  remained 
there ;  nothing  more  of  their  plan  of  life  was 
revealed  to  me.  Still,  I  saw  one  new  thing. 
Sir  Francis  swam  about,  with  the  Duchess  and 
Countess  in  a  suite,  following  close,  but  never 
crowding  him.  What  they  did  do  was  crowd 
each  other.  A  struggle  for  place  occurred  be 
tween  them  from  time  to  time ;  and,  although  all 
the  rest  of  the  time  they  were  like  sisters,  when 
the  struggle  was  on  it  was  bitter. 

I  must  have  stayed  watching  them  for  half  an 
hour  to  make  sure  of  this  and  I  know  that  there 
were  moments  when  they  would  have  gladly 
killed  each  other.  Sir  Francis  never  took  the 
slightest  notice  of  it,  though  he  must  have  been 
well  aware  of  it,  since  it  always  went  on  some  six 
inches  behind  his  back.  The  Countess  would  at 
tempt  to  swim  up  closer  to  him,  at  which  the 
Duchess  would  instantly  crook  her  neck  side- 
wise  at  her  and,  savagely  undulating  her  head, 
would  utter  quick,  poisonous  sounds  that  trem 
bled  with  fury.  To  these  the  Countess  would 
retort,  crooking  and  undulating  too ;  thus  they 
would  swim  with  their  necks  at  right  angles, 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     295 

raging  at  each  other  and  crowding  for  place. 
Sometimes  the  Duchess  darted  her  bill  out  and 
bit  the  Countess,  who  was  of  a  milder  nature,  I 
gradually  discerned.  The  admirable  ignorance 
which  Sir  Francis  preserved  of  all  this  testified 
plainly  to  his  moral  balance,  and  rilled  me  with 
curiosity  and  respect.  Whatever  was  going  on 
behind  him,  whether  peace  or  war,  he  swam 
quietly  on  or  stopped  as  it  pleased  him,  with 
never  a  change  in  the  urbanity  of  his  eye  and 
carriage. 

It  came  to  me  that  afternoon  what  his  attitude 
at  the  woodpile  essentially  was.  He  stood  there 
again  alone  —  the  ducks  were  quacking  in  the 
pond  —  and  as  I  looked  at  his  neat  white  body 
and  the  lemon-colored  bill  and  orange-colored 
legs,  all  presented  in  the  same  dignified  profile, 
I  saw  that  his  was  by  instinct  the  historical  por 
trait  attitude:  Perry  after  Lake  Erie,  Webster 
before  replying  to  Hayne,  Washington  on  be 
ing  notified  of  his  appointment  as  Commander- 
in-Chief  —  you  will  understand  what  I  mean. 
And  if  you  smile  at  my  absorption  in  these 
little  straws  from  the  farmyard  you  have  never 
known  the  blessing  of  true  leisure.  To  drop 
clean  out  of  my  mind  for  a  while  the  law  and 


296  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

investment  of  trust  funds  and  the  self-induced 
hysterics  of  Wall  Street,  and  study  a  perfectly 
irrelevant,  unuseful  trifle,  such  as  the  family  life 
of  Sir  Francis  and  his  ladies,  brings  a  pastoral 
health  to  the  spirit  and  to  the  biliary  duct 

There  was  an  error  in  my  conclusions  about 
the  Countess  and  Duchess  which  I  did  not  have 
a  chance  to  perceive  for  a  day  or  two,  because 
our  domestic  harmony  was  mysteriously  disturbed. 
That  clear  note  in  May's  voice  waked  up  again, 
this  time  a  tone  or  so  higher ;  and  it  was  kept 
awake  by  one  thing  after  another.  It  began 
after  a  wagonful  of  people  had  passed  the  ranch 
on  its  way  down  the  valley  to  town.  I  was  off 
by  the  river  when  they  stopped  a  few  minutes 
on  the  road  outside  the  fence.  One  could  not 
see  who  they  were  at  that  distance.  Jimsy  left 
his  ditch  work  and  talked  to  them  and  when  they 
had  gone  returned  to  it.  At  our  next  meal  Jim- 
sy's  eye  was  bewildered  —  and  something  more  — 
and  May's  voice  was  bad  for  digestion.  As  soon 
as  my  last  mouthful  was  swallowed  I  sought  the 
solitude  of  my  cabin  and  read  a  book  until  bed 
time.  How  should  one  connect  that  wagonload 
of  people  with  the  new  and  higher  tide  of  unrest  ? 
Nothing  was  more  the  custom  than  this  stopping 


ar 

i 


:Well,  Jimsy,  are  you  going  to  get  me  any  wood  for  this  stove  — 
ain't  you  ?  " 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     297 

of  neighbors  to  chat  over  the  fence.  May's  voice 
and  Jimsy's  eye  kept  me  as  often  and  as  far  from 
their  neighborhood  as  I  could  get. 

It  was  Scipio,  the  next  time  I  saw  him,  who  be 
gan  at  once :  "  Did  you  see  Mrs.  Faxon  ?  " 

"  Who's  she  ? " 

"  Gracious !  I  thought  everybody  in  this  coun 
try  knowed  her.  She's  an  alfalfa  widow." 

"  Well,  I  seem  to  have  somehow  missed  her." 

"  She  went  down  to  town  the  other  day.  Pity 
you've  missed  her.  Awful  good-looker." 

"Well,  I'll  try  to  meet  her." 

"  Her  and  Jimsy  used  to  meet  a  whole  heap," 
said  Scipio. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  I.  "  H'm  !  All  the  same  May's  a 
fool." 

"Did  she  get  mad?  Did  she  get  mad  ?"  de 
manded  Scipio,  vivaciously. 

"  Lord !  "  said  I,  thinking  of  it.  I  told  Scipio 
how  Jimsy  had  talked  over  the  fence  to  the  scarlet 
fragment  of  his  past  for  perhaps  three  minutes  in 
the  safe  presence  of  a  wagonload  of  witnesses,  and 
how  in  consequence  May  had  gone  up  into  the 
air.  "  To  love  acceptably  needs  tact,"  I  moralized; 
but  while  I  expatiated  on  this,  Scipio's  attention 
wandered. 


298  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  You  saw  Honey  Wiggin  go  up  the  river  with 
his  dudes?" 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  And  two  other  parties  go  up?  " 

"Yes." 

"Any  further  notions  about  the  game  laws  ?" 

"Nothing  —  except  it's  the  merest  charity  to 
assume  they  made  them  when  they  were  drunk." 

"Sure  thing!  I  guess  I'll  have  a  cook  when 
your  camping  stuff  comes." 

My  stuff  was  due  in  not  many  days ;  and  as  I 
walked  home  from  Scipio's  cabin  I  felt  gratitude 
to  the  game  laws  for  the  part  they  had  played  in 
delaying  me  in  this  valley,  where  each  day  seemed 
the  essence  distilled  from  the  beauty  of  seven 
usual  days.  Even  as  I  waded  Buffalo  Horn  I 
stopped  to  look  up  and  down  the  course  that  it 
made  between  its  bordering  cottonwoods.  A 
week  ago  these  had  been  green ;  but  autumn  had 
come  one  night  and  now  here  was  Buffalo  Horn 
unwinding  its  golden  miles  between  the  castle 
walls  of  the  mountains.  Amid  all  this  august 
serenity  I  walked  the  slower  through  fear  of  hav 
ing  it  marred  by  the  voice  of  May.  I  lingered 
outside  the  house  and  it  was  the  voice  of  the 
Duchess  that  I  heard.  Yes,  I  was  grateful  to  the 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     299 

game  laws.  They,  too,  caused  me  to  learn  the 
whole  truth  about  Sir  Francis. 

On  this  particular  evening  I  saw  where  had 
been  my  error  regarding  the  Countess  and 
Duchess.  I  have  spoken  of  the  Countess'  milder 
nature,  which  I  thought  always  put  her  behind  the 
Duchess  in  their  struggle  for  precedence.  It  did 
not.  Quite  often  she  made  up  in  skill  what  she 
lacked  in  force  and  I  now  saw  the  first  example 
of  it.  They  were  all  coming  to  the  pond  for 
their  evening  swim,  the  two  ducks  scolding  and 
walking  with  their  necks  at  right  angles.  Sir 
Francis  was  in  the  lead,  his  head  gently  inclined 
toward  the  water.  As  he  got  in  the  Duchess 
made  an  evident  miscalculation.  She  thought  he 
was  going  to  swim  to  the  right,  and  she  splashed 
hastily  in  that  direction.  But  he  swam  to  the 
left.  The  Countess  was  there  in  a  flash.  She 
got  herself  next  to  him  and  held  her  place  round 
and  round  the  pond,  crooking  her  neck  and  quack 
ing  backward  at  the  enraged,  defeated  Duchess. 

Twice  in  the  following  forenoon  I  saw  this 
recur;  and  before  supper  I  knew  that  it  was  a 
part  of  their  daily  lives.  Sometimes  it  happened 
on  land,  sometimes  in  the  water,  and  always  in 
the  same  way  —  a  miscalculation  as  to  which  way 


300  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

the  drake  was  going  to  turn.  It  was  the  duck 
who  had  been  nearest  to  him  that  always  made 
the  miscalculation,  and  she  invariably  lost  her 
place  by  it.  Then  she  would  rage  in  the  rear 
while  the  other  scoffed  back  at  her.  Neither 
of  them  could  have  been  entirely  a  lady  or  they 
would  have  known  how  to  conduct  their  quarrel 
without  all  this  displeasing  publicity.  But  there 
can  be  no  doubt  that  Sir  Francis  was  a  perfect 
gentleman.  Not  only  was  he  never  aware  of 
what  was  happening,  but  he  so  bore  himself  as 
wholly  to  avoid  being  made  ridiculous.  That 
the  Duchess  was  a  little  near-sighted  I  learned 
when  I  took  to  feeding  them  with  toast  brought 
from  breakfast. 

My  time  was  growing  short  and  I  began  to 
fear  that  I  might  be  gone  hunting  before  I  had 
penetrated  the  mystery  of  the  historical  portrait 
attitude  near  the  woodpile  and  the  protests  of  the 
ducks  in  the  water.  This  was  going  on  straight 
along,  only  I  had  never  managed  to  see  the  be 
ginning  of  it.  Therefore  I  fed  them  on  toast  to 
draw  closer  to  them,  and  I  tried  to  give  each  a 
piece,  turn  about ;  but  only  too  often,  when  toast 
meant  for  the  Duchess  had  fallen  in  the  water 
directly  under  her  nose,  she  would  peer  helplessly 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     301 

about  and  the  Countess  would  dip  down  quickly 
and  get  it.  Sometimes  the  Duchess  saw  it  one 
second  too  late,  when  their  heads  would  literally 
collide,  and  the  Duchess,  under  the  impression 
she  had  got  it,  would  snap  her  bill  two  or  three 
times  on  nothing,  and  then  perceive  the  Countess 
chewing  the  morsel.  At  this  she  always  savagely 
bit  the  Countess;  and  still,  through  it  all,  the 
drake  sustained  his  admirable  ignorance.  My 
feeding  device  triumphed.  I  did  learn  about  the 
woodpile. 

This  is  what  I  saw.  They  had  been  swimming 
for  a  while  after  eating  the  toast.  Sir  Francis 
had  finally  swallowed  a  last  hard  bit  of  crust  after 
repeatedly  soaking  it  in  the  water.  He  looked 
about  and  evidently  decided  it  was  time  for  the 
haystack.  He  got  out  on  the  bank,  but  the 
ladies  did  not.  He  turned  and  looked  at  them ; 
they  continued  swimming.  Then  he  walked 
slowly  away  in  silence,  and  as  he  grew  distant 
their  swimming  became  agitated.  Reaching  the 
woodpile,  he  turned  and  stood  in  bland,  eminent 
profile.  Then  the  ducks  in  the  pond  began. 
The  Duchess  quacked ;  the  Countess  quacked ; 
their  voices  rose  and  became  positively  wild.  A 
person  who  did  not  know  would  have  hastened  to 


302  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

see  if  they  needed  assistance.  This  performance 
lasted  four  minutes  by  my  watch  —  the  drake 
statuesque  by  the  woodpile,  the  ducks  screaming 
in  the  water.  Then,  as  I  have  before  described, 
they  succumbed  to  the  power  at  the  woodpile. 
They  swam  ashore,  flapped  to  dry  themselves,  and 
made  for  Sir  Francis  like  people  catching  a  train. 
He  did  not  move  until  they  had  reached  him, 
when  all  sought  the  haystack. 

So  now  I  understood  clearly  that  it  was  he 
who  made  their  plans,  timed  all  their  comings  and 
goings,  and  that  they,  bitterly  as  they  disliked 
leaving  the  water  until  they  were  ready,  never 
theless  had  to  leave  it  when  he  was  ready.  Of 
course,  if  either  of  them  had  had  any  real  mind, 
they  would  have  realized  long  before  that  it  was 
of  no  use  to  attempt  to  cope  with  him  and  they 
would  have  got  out  quickly  when  he  did,  instead 
of  making  this  scene  several  times  every  day. 
But  why  did  they  get  out  at  all  when  they  didn't 
want  to  ?  Why  didn't  they  let  him  go  to  the  hay 
stack  by  himself?  What  was  the  secret  of  his 
power?  It  was  they  who  were  always  fighting 
and  biting ;  his  serenity  was  flawless. 

I  stood  on  the  breast  of  the  pond,  turning  this 
over.     If  you  have  outrun  me  and  arrived  at  the 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     303 

truth,  it  just  shows  once  again  how  superior  read 
ers  are  to  writers  in  intelligence.  I  was  not  des 
tined  to  fathom  it.  Many  a  problem  has  taken 
two  to  solve  it  and  it  was  Jimsy  who  —  but  let 
that  wait.  Jimsy  came  across  from  the  stable 
and  spoke  to  me  now :  — 
"  What  are  you  studying  ?  " 
"  I  have  been  studying  your  ducks." 
He  looked  over  at  the  cabin,  where  May  could 
be  seen  moving  about  in  the  kitchen,  and  I  saw 
his  face  grow  suddenly  tender.  "  They're  hers," 
he  said  softly.  "  She  kind  o'  wanted  ducks  round 
here  and  so  one  day  I  brought  'em  to  her  from 
town.  Then  I  made  this  pond  for  'em  —  just 
dammed  the  creek  across  this  little  gully.  Noth 
ing's  wrong  with  'em  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.     But  they've  set  me  guessing." 
He  did  not  believe  my  story,  though  he  lis 
tened  with  his  gray  eyes  fixed  on  mine.     "  That's 
wonderful,"  he  said ;  "  but  you've  made  it  up.     I'd 
have  noticed  a  thing  like  that." 

"  I  don't  think  you  would.  You're  working  all 
day  with  your  stock  and  your  ditches.  Think 
what  a  loafer  I  am." 

"  It's  most  too  extraordinary,"  he  said,  and 
stood  looking  at  the  woodpile.  He  was  not  really 


304  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

thinking  about  what  I  had  told  him;  I  could  feel 
that. 

"  Well,  Jimsy  !  " 

We  both  started  a  little.  It  was  May,  who  had 
come  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  and  the 
setting  sun  shone  upon  her  and  made  her  quite 
lovely,  where  she  stood  shading  her  eyes,  with  a 
little  hair  floating  one  side  of  her  forehead. 

"Well,  Jimsy!  Dreaming  again!  Do  you 
know  what  time  it  is  ?  The  way  you've  took  to 
dreaming  is  something  terrible  ! " 

Jimsy  went  into  the  house. 

I  was  glad  that  two  days  more  would  see  me 
out  of  this. 

Next  morning  I  stood  justified  —  oh,  more  than 
justified  — in  Jimsy's  eyes.  No  one  could  have 
anticipated  such  a  performance  at  the  pond  as  I 
was  able  to  show  him  —  it  bore  me  out  and  sur 
passed  anything  I  had  told  him  —  and  no  one 
could  have  foretold  that  it  would  fire  Jimsy  with 
a  curiosity  equal  to  mine. 

The  ceremony  of  the  toast  was  in  progress 
when  Jimsy,  crossing  to  the  corral,  saw  me  thus 
engaged.  He  stuck  his  hands  into  his  pockets 
and  strolled  across  to  the  water's  edge,  wearing  a 
broad  grin  of  indulgence. 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN    305 

"  Awful  busy,  you  are  !  "  said  he. 

"  Just  watch  them,"  said  I. 

"Oh,  I've  got  a  day's  work  to  do." 

"  I'm  aware,"  I  retorted,  "  that  scientific  obser 
vation  doesn't  look  like  work  to  the  ignorant." 

"  What're  you  trying  to  find  out  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  last  night.  I  can't  see  how  that 
drake  keeps  those  ducks  in  order." 

"  Oh,  I  guess  he  don't  keep  'em  in  order." 

"  I  tell  you  he  has  them  under  his  thumb." 

Jimsy  cast  a  careless  eye  upon  the  birds. 
They  had  finished  the  toast  and  were  swimming 
about.  The  quacks  of  the  Duchess  were  merely 
quacks  to  him ;  he  did  not  hear  that  she  was 
saying  to  the  Countess :  "  Hah,  Hah,  Hah ! 
How  do  you  fancy  a  back  seat  this  morning?" 

"  One  feels  mortified,  of  course,"  I  explained  to 
Jimsy,  "that  she  should  betray  her  spite  so 
crudely  —  a  sad  but  common  thing  in  our 
country." 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  what  are  you  talking 
about  ?  "  demanded  Jimsy. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  in  the  least  crazy.  New  York 
stinks  with  people  like  that." 

At  this  moment  the  usual  thing  happened  in 
the  pond  —  the  Duchess  made  a  miscalculation. 


306  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

The  drake  swam  suddenly  left  instead  of  right, 
and  the  Countess  jumped  to  the  favored  place. 
Now  it  was  she  who  quacked  backward  at  her 
discountenanced  rival. 

"  She  is  really  the  sweeter  nature  of  the  two,"  I 
said.  But  Jimsy  was  attending  to  the  ducks  with 
an  awakened  interest ;  in  fact,  he  was  now  caught 
in  the  same  fascination  that  had  held  me  for 
so  many  days.  He  took  his  hands  out  of  his 
pockets  and  followed  the  ducks  keenly. 

"  I  believe  you  weren't  lyin'  to  me,"  he  remarked 
presently. 

"  You  wait !     Just  you  wait !  "     I  exclaimed. 

He  watched  a  little  longer.  "  D'you  suppose," 
he  said,  "  it's  his  feathers  they  love  so  ?  " 

"  His  feathers  ?  "  I  repeated. 

u  Those  two  curly  ones  in  his  tail.  They're 
crooked  plumb  enticing,  like  they  were  saying, 
4  Come,  girls ! ' " 

This  reminded  me  of  Jimsy's  unbrushed  mound 
of  hair  and  May's  coldness  at  his  reference  to  it. 
"  Feathers  would  hardly  account  for  everything," 
I  said. 

A  last  spark  of  doubt  flickered  in  Jimsy.  "  Are 
you  joshing  about  this  thing  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Just  you  wait,"  I  said  again. 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     307 

We  did  not  have  to  wait.  In  the  judgment  of 
the  drake  it  was  time  for  the  haystack ;  the  ducks 
thought  it  too  soon.  All  began  as  usual.  Sir 
Francis  had  reached  the  woodpile  and  taken  his 
attitude,  the  first  protesting  scream  from  the  pond 
had  risen  to  the  sky,  Jimsy's  face  was  causing  me 
acute  pleasure,  when  the  Duchess  did  an  entirely 
new  thing.  She  swam  to  the  inlet  and  began  to 
waddle  slowly  up  the  trickling  stream.  Then  I 
perceived  a  few  yards  beyond  her  the  cleanings  of 
some  fish  which  had  been  thrown  out.  It  was  for 
these  she  was  making. 

"  She  has  ruined  everything !  "  I  lamented 

"  Wait !  "  said  Jimsy.  He  whispered  it.  His 
new  faith  was  completer  than  mine. 

The  Duchess  heavily  proceeded.  In  my  child 
hood  I  used  sometimes  to  see  old  ladies  walking 
slowly,  shod  in  soft,  wide,  heelless  things  made  of 
silk  or  satin  —  certainly  not  of  leather,  except  the 
soles  —  which  seem  to  have  gone  out.  The 
Duchess  trod  as  if  she  had  these  same  mid-Victo 
rian  feet  and  she  began  gobbling  the  fish.  If  this 
was  any  strain  upon  the  drake,  he  did  not  show  it. 
The  Countess  now  discerned  from  the  pond  what 
the  Duchess  was  doing  and  she  was  instantly 
riven  with  contending  emotions.  The.  waves 


3o8  MEMBERS   OF   THE   FAMILY 

from  her  legs  agitated  the  whole  pond  as  she 
swam  wildly ;  sometimes  she  looked  at  the  drake, 
sometimes  at  the  fish,  and  between  the  looks  she 
quacked  as  if  she  would  die.  Then  she,  too,  got 
out  and  went  toward  the  fish.  I  looked  appre 
hensively  at  the  figure  by  the  woodpile,  but  it 
might  have  been  a  painted  figure  in  very  truth. 
I  think  Jimsy  was  holding  his  breath.  When  a 
moral  conflict  .becomes  visible  to  the  naked 
eye  there  is  something  in  it  that  far  out 
matches  any  mere  thumping  of  fists;  here 
was  Sir  Francis  battling  for  his  empire  in 
silence  and  immobility,  with  his  ladies  getting  all 
the  fish.  And  just  then  the  Countess  wavered. 
She  saw  Sir  Francis,  white  and  monumental, 
thirty  yards  away ;  and  she  saw  the  Duchess  and 
the  fish  about  three  more  steps  from  her  nose. 
She  stood  still  and  then  she  broke  down.  She 
turned  and  fled  back  to  her  lord.  It  cannot  be 
known  what  the  more  forcible  Duchess  would 
have  done  but  for  this.  As  it  was,  she  looked  up 
and  saw  the  Countess  —  and  immediately  went  to 
pieces  herself.  I  had  not  known  that  she  had  it 
in  her  to  run  so. 

I  cannot  repeat  Jimsy 's  first  oath  as  he  stared 
at  the  triumphant  drake   leading   his  family  to 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     309 

the  haystack.  After  silence  he  turned  to  me. 
"  Wouldn't  that  kill  you  ? "  he  said  very  quietly ; 
and  said  no  more,  but  began  to  walk  slowly  away. 

"  Now,"  I  called  after  him,  "  will  you  tell  me 
how  he  manages  to  keep  head  of  his  house  like 
that?" 

If  Jimsy  had  any  hypothesis  to  offer  then,  he 
did  not  offer  it,  and  before  he  had  reached  the  corral 
May  appeared.  I'll  not  report  her  talk  this  time, 
it  was  the  usual  nursery  governess  affair:  did 
Jimsy  know  that  he  had  wasted  half  an  hour  when 
he  ought  to  have  hitched  up  and  gone  for  wood 
up  Dead  Timber  Creek,  and  didn't  he  know  there 
was  wood  for  just  one  day  left  and  it  would  take 
him  the  whole  day  ?  I  escaped  to  my  fishing 
before  she  had  done  and  I  took  my  dinner  with 
Scipio. 

It  is  wicked  to  fish  in  October,  but  we  ate  the 
trout;  and  I  must  tell  you  of  a  discovery:  when 
artificial  flies  fail,  and  frost  has  finished  the  grass 
hoppers,  the  housefly  is  a  deadly  bait !  I  am  glad 
at  last  to  have  accounted  for  the  presence  of  the 
housefly  in  a  universe  of  infinite  love. 

At  supper  I  was  sorry  that  Scipio  and  I  had  not 
got  off  to  the  mountains  that  day.  Jimsy  was 
still  out.  He  had  brought,  it  appeared,  one  load 


3io  MEMBERS  OF  THE   FAMILY 

of  wood  from  Dead  Timber  Creek  and  had  gone 
for  another.  It  was  May's  opinion  that  he  should 
have  returned  by  now.  I  hardly  thought  so,  but 
this  made  small  difference  to  May.  She  was  up 
from  table  and  listening  at  the  open  door  three 
times  before  our  restless  meal  was  over.  Next  she 
lighted  a  lantern  and  hung  it  out  upon  a  gate-post 
of  one  of  the  outer  corrals,  that  Jimsy  might  be 
guided  home  from  afar.  In  the  following  thirty 
minutes  she  went  out  twice  again  to  listen  and 
soon  after  this  she  sent  me  out  to  the  lantern  to 
make  sure  it  was  burning  brightly. 

"  He  would  see  the  windows  at  any  rate,"  I 
told  her. 

But  now  she  had  begun  to  be  frightened  and 
could  not  sit  in  her  chair  for  more  than  a  few 
moments  at  a  time. 

"What  o'clock  is  it?"  she  asked  me. 

It  was  seven  forty-five  and  I  think  she  fancied 
it  was  midnight.  If  Jimsy  had  been  six  years  old 
and  a  perfect  fool  to  boot  she  could  not  have  been 
more  distracted  than  she  presently  became. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Culloden,"  I  remonstrated,  "Jimsy 
was  raised  in  this  valley.  He  knows  his  way 
about." 

She  did  n6t  hear  me  and  now  she  seized  the 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     311 

telephone.  Into  the  ears  of  one  neighbor  after 
another  she  poured  questions  up  and  down  the 
valley.  It  was  idle  to  remind  her  that  Dead  Tim 
ber  Creek  was  five  miles  to  the  south  of  us  and 
that  the  Whitlows,  who  lived  six  miles  to  the 
north,  were  not  likely  to  have  seen  Jimsy.  The 
whole  valley  quickly  learned  that  he  had  not 
come  back  with  his  second  load  of  wood  by  eight 
o  'clock  and  that  she  was  asking  them  all  if  they 
knew  anything  about  it.  In  the  space  of  twenty 
minutes  with  the  telephone  she  had  made  him 
ridiculous  throughout  the  precinct ;  and  then  at 
ten  minutes  past  eight,  while  she  was  ringing  up 
her  friend  Mrs.  Sedlaw  for  the  second  time,  in  came 
Jimsy.  The  wood  and  the  wagon  were  safe  in  the 
corral,  he  was  safe  in  the  house  and  hungry ;  and, 
of  course,  she  hadn't  heard  him  arrive  because  of 
the  noise  of  the  telephone.  He  had  been  at  the 
stable  for  the  last  ten  minutes,  attending  to  the 
horses. 

"And  you  never  had  the  sense  to  tell  me!" 
she  cried. 

"  Tell  you  what  ? "  He  had  not  taken  it  in. 
"  Gosh,  but  that  chicken  looks  good !  What's 
that  lantern  out  there  for?  "  He  was  now  seated 
and  helping  himself  to  the  food. 


3i2  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  And  that's  all  you've  got  to  say  to  me !  "  she 
said.  And  then  the  deluge  came — not  of  tears, 
but  words. 

Somewhere  inside  of  Jimsy  was  an  angel,  what 
ever  else  he  contained.  Throughout  that  foolish, 
galling  scene  made  in  my  presence  before  I  could 
escape,  never  a  syllable  of  what  he  must  have  been 
feeling  came  from  him,  but  only  good-natured 
ejaculations  —  not  many  and  rather  brief,  to  be 
sure.  When  he  learned  the  reason  for  the  lantern 
he  laughed  aloud.  This  set  her  off  and  she  rushed 
into  the  story  of  her  telephoning.  Then,  and 
then  alone,  it  was  on  the  verge  of  being  too  much 
for  him.  He  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork  and 
leaned  back  for  a  second,  but  the  angel  won.  He 
resumed  his  meal;  only  a  brick-red  sunset  of 
color  spread  from  his  collar  to  his  hair  —  and  his 
eyes  were  not  gray,  but  black. 

That  was  what  I  saw  after  I  had  got  away  to 
my  cabin  and  was  in  bed :  the  man's  black  eyes 
fixed  on  his  plate  and  the  pretty  girl  standing  by 
the  stove  and  working  off  her  needless  fright  in 
an  unbearable  harangue. 

Audibly  I  sighed,  sighed  with  audible  relief, 
when  the  Culloden  Ranch  lay  a  mile  behind  Scipio 
and  me  and  our  packhorses  the  next  day.  Jimsy 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     313 

had  been  as  self-controlled  in  the  morning  as  on 
the  night  before  —  except  that  no  man  can  control 
the  color  of  his  eyes.  The  murky  storm  that 
hung  in  Jimsy's  eyes  was  the  kind  that  does  not 
blow  over,  but  breaks.  Was  May  blind  to  such  a 
sign  ?  At  breakfast  she  told  him  that  the  next 
time  he  went  for  wood  she  would  go  to  see  that 
he  got  back  for  supper  !  I  told  Scipio  that  if 
things  were  not  different  when  we  returned  I 
should  move  over  to  his  cabin. 

"  You'd  never  have  figured  a  girl  could  get 
Jimsy  buffaloed !  "  said  Scipio. 

"  He's  not  buffaloed  a  little  bit,"  I  returned. 

"Ain't  he  goin'  to  do  nothin'? " 

"  I  don't  know  what  he'll  do." 

Scipio  rode  for  a  while,  thinking  it  over.  "  If 
I  had  a  wife,"  he  said,  "  and  she  got  to  thinkin' 
she  was  my  mother,  I'd  take  a  dally  with  her." 
His  meaning  was  not  clear;  but  he  made  it  so: 
"  I'd  take  her  —  well,  not  on  my  knee,  but  acrost  it." 

This  I  doubted,  but  said  nothing.  By  and  by 
we  were  passing  the  Sedlaw  Ranch  arid  Mrs. 
Sedlaw  came  running  out  rather  hastily  —  and 
began  speaking  before  she  reached  the  gate. 

"Oh,  howdy-do?"  said  she;  and  she  stood 
looking  at  me. 


3i4  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

"  Isn't  it  perfect  weather  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Yes,  indeed.    And  so  you're  going  hunting  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Want  to  come  ?  " 

"  Why,  wouldn't  that  be  nice !  I  thought  Jimsy 
and  May  might  be  going  with  you." 

"  Oh,  they're  too  busy.     Good-by." 

She  stood  looking  after  me  for  some  time  and 
I  saw  her  walk  back  to  the  house  quite  slowly. 

There's  no  need  to  tell  of  our  hunting,  or  of  the 
games  of  Cceur  d'Alene  Solo  which  Scipio  and 
I  and  the  useful  cook  played  at  night.  In  twenty 
days  the  snow  drove  us  out  of  the  mountains  and 
we  came  down  to  human  habitations  —  and  to 
rife  rumors.  I  don't  recall  what  we  heard  at  the 
first  cabin — or  the  second  or  the  others  —  but 
we  heard  something  everywhere.  The  valley  was 
agog  over  Jimsy  and  May.  Amid  the  wealth  of 
details,  I  shall  never  know  precisely  what  did 
happen.  Jimsy  had  left  her  and  gone  to  Alaska. 
He  hadn't  gone  to  Alaska,  but  to  New  York,  with 
Mrs.  Faxon,  the  alfalfa  widow.  May  had  gone 
to  her  mother  in  Iowa.  She  hadn't  gone  to 
Iowa;  she  was  under  the  protection  of  Mrs.  Sed- 
law.  Jimsy  and  the  widow  were  living  in  open 
shame  at  the  ranch.  The  ranch  was  shut  up  and 
old  man  Birdsall  had  seen  Jimsy  in  town,  driving 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     315 

a  companion  who  wore  splendid  feathers.  There 
was  more,  much  more,  but  the  only  certainty 
seemed  to  be  that  Jimsy  had  broken  loose  and 
gone  somewhere  —  and  over  this  somewhere  hov 
ered  an  episodic  bigamy.  But  where  was  Jimsy 
now  ?  And  May  ?  Had  the  explosion  blown 
them  asunder  forever  ?  Was  their  marriage  lying 
in  fragments  ?  On  our  last  night  in  camp  we 
talked  of  this  more  than  we  played  Cceur  d'Alene 
Solo.  If  anybody  could  tell  me  the  true  state 
of  things  it  would  be  Mrs.  Sedlaw,  and  at  her 
door  I  knocked  as  I  passed  the  next  morning. 

"  Oh,  howdy-do  ?  "  said  I ;  and  she  sat  looking 
at  me  for  some  moments. 

"  What  luck  ?  "  said  she.     "  Get  an  elk  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  I.     "  How  are  things  in  general  ?  " 

"  Elegant,"  said  she.  "  Give  my  love  to  dear 
May."  ^ 

"  Thank  you,"  said  I,  not  very  appropriately. 

The  lady  followed  me  to  my  horse.  "  Seems 
like  only  yesterday  you  came  by,"  was  her  parting 
word.  She  had  certainly  squared  our  accounts. 

As  we  drew  in  sight  of  the  Culloden  Ranch 
you  may  imagine  how  I  wondered  what  we  should 
find  there.  A  peaceful  smoke  rose  from  the 
kitchen  chimney  into  the  quiet  air.  Through 


3*6  MEMBERS   OF  THE   FAMILY 

the  window  I  saw  —  yes,  it  was  May  !  —  most 
domestically  preparing  food.  Outside  by  the 
pond  a  figure  stood.  It  was  Jimsy.  He  was 
feeding  the  ducks.  I  swung  off  my  horse  and 
hurried  to  Jimsy.  Sir  Francis  was  eating  from 
his  hand. 

"  How ! "  said  he  in  cheerful  greeting. 

"  How  !  "  I  returned. 

"Get  an  elk?" 

"  Yes." 

"Sheep?" 

"  Yes." 

"Good!" 

"  You  —  you're  —  you're  feeding  the  ducks." 

"  Sure  thing !  —  Say,  I've  found  out  his  game." 

I  pointed  to  Sir  Francis.  "  His  control,  you 
mean  ?  —  how  he  keeps  his  hold  ?  " 

"  Sure  thing ! "  Jimsy  pointed  to  the  ducks. 
"  Has  'em  competin'  for  him.  Keeps  'em 
a-guessing.  That's  his  game." 

It  stunned  me  for  a  second.  Of  course  he 
didn't  know  that  the  valley  had  talked  to  me. 

"  Why,  how  do  you  do  ?  "  cried  May,  cheerfully, 
coming  out  of  the  house. 

Then  I  took  it  all  in  and  I  broke  into  scandal 
ous,  irredeemable  laughter. 


THE  DRAKE  WHO  HAD  MEANS  OF  HIS  OWN     317 

A  bright  flash  came  into  Jimsy's  eyes  as  he 
took  it  all  in  —  then  he  also  gave  way,  but  he 
blushed  heavily. 

"  Whatever  are  you  two  laughing  at  ? "  ex 
claimed  May.  She  looked  radiant.  That  clear 
note  was  all  melted  from  her  voice.  "  Mr. 
Le  Moyne,  aren't  you  going  to  stay  to  dinner  ? " 

"  Why,  thank  you  !  "  said  Scipio  —  polite,  and 
embarrassed  almost  to  stuttering. 

To  Sir  Francis  Jimsy  gave  the  last  piece  of 
toast.  It  was  a  large  one.  If  the  drake  was 
aware  of  the  tie  between  Jimsy's  marital  methods 
and  his  own,  he  betrayed  it  as  little  as  he  be 
trayed  knowledge  of  all  things  which  it  is  best 
never  to  notice. 

Yes,  I  am  grateful  to  the  game  laws.  The 
next  legislature  made  them  intelligible. 


*HE  following  pages  contain  advertisements 
of  a  few  of  the  Macmillan  novels. 


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